The Little Captain
by Tolkien'sInkwell
Summary: Assorted drabbles centered around the lives of Toushiro and Hyourinmaru. Chapter 55: Toushiro breaking his zanpakuto, probably more than he should
1. Your Angel

**My eternal gratitude to Tite Kubo for letting me practice my writing skills on his characters ;D**

**(_Toushiro, whispering in the background: "What does she mean, 'practicing'?"_**

**_Hyorinmaru, not exactly whispering: Don't worry. If it gets out of hand, we can just freeze her."_)**

**Wait, what? Anyway . . . I had so much fun writing "Two Lost Souls" that I decided to write some more one-shots. ****Yes. There will be angst galore. I just can't help it, it's so much fun to write.** I have several more partially-written chapters and ideas already . . . the only thing standing in their way is three words: "Review This Chapter". . .

**(Yes . . . the title is a Le Petit Prince reference.)**

**Chapter notes: Based (loosely) on Episode 121 (the end of Hitsugaya's fight with Shawlong). **

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He was zanpakuto – an instrument of protection. He had saved many lives, helped countless souls find peace – but those countless souls, they all meant nothing to him. Only one soul, one small, fragile being, mattered to Hyorinmaru – and he could do nothing to help it, could not even call for help as bankai-wings snapped at the base, slivers of ice flying, and the body of Toushiro Hitsugaya fell silently out of the sky.

The young Captain did not register pain yet, only confusion to find the air no longer supporting him. Hyorinmaru could hear his struggling thoughts. _What?_ The fight – it couldn't be over. _No! – Wait!_

The ground seemed so far away, and Toushiro seemed to be falling so very slowly – if a pair of arms were to stretch out, his slight body would come to rest there so easily. Such a simple thing, to catch this delicate creature. And for all his formidable powers, Hyorinmaru couldn't do it.

In their shared mind, Toushiro's voice whispered faintly. _Hyorin . . . maru?_

_Here._

_ What happened? Did we win?_

_ I believe so. _The spirit gave a deep, quiet sigh.

_Am I – am I falling?_

_ Yes._

_ It doesn't feel so bad._

He was fading . . . they both were.

_ Don't worry. You fought well._

_ Will anyone catch me?_

Toushiro's body hit the ground, unconscious, before Hyorinmaru could answer. _Of course they will_, he whispered anyway.

He had always been able to protect Toushiro, make him stronger, help him fight. Now there was no more help he could give, not even simple comfort. They had always known that each battle they fought could be the last one, the end of both of them . . . but the end shouldn't come like this. _If I can't catch you, I'm supposed to fall with you . . ._

He was zanpakuto, a reaper of souls; he watched them fall to shards and leave the world of the living without a second thought. It was his duty to guide this small, bright soul on its journey, but as he felt it spiral away, all he could do was try desperately to keep it from falling any farther.


	2. Think of What I Am

**Disclaimer: All credit goes to Tite Kubo & the writers of the Zanpakuto Alternative Tales arc.**

**Other Disclaimer: This chapter is basically a giant spoiler for episodes 238-239. I haven't actually seen this whole arc, I just watched these eps because I wanted to see the flashbacks of Hitsugaya's past. Then I wrote fanfiction about them. Anyway, if you don't want the spoiling, then don't read.**

**Also, this chapter has kind of a different take on Shiro & Hyori's relationship, please don't yell at me that it's wrong 'cause the whole reason I like these two so much is because I think there are many ways of interpreting their relationship, this is just one...**

**Thanks to everyone who subscribed/favorited, extra thanks to everyone who reviewed! FYI, I'm always looking for new chapter ideas, so if any of you have a suggestion/request for me, please do give it. Can't promise I will use it, but I'll always take them into consideration. **

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He was hugely vast and immensely powerful.

He was trapped.

Trapped between invisible walls that gave not the slightest bit, no matter how hard he threw himself at them again and again.

Imprisoned by a jailer who didn't even realize what he was doing.

Simple, endless frustration.

That was the creature called Hyorinmaru's existence.

Every moment, every ounce of willpower, was bent towards the one who held him prisoner. Some dim instinct told him that if he could only make the child realize who he was, he would be closer to freedom. So in the confines of that young mind, he raged and howled for recognition.

At first, the child recoiled from him. Every day Hyorinmaru heard his weak cries, "_Who are you? What are you?_"

"_My name is Hyorinmaru!_"

Over and over, the same words.

Over and over, no answer.

Until finally, the day came when there was a faint reply. "_Hyorinmaru . . .?_" Finally the prisoner heard his name from the jailer's mouth.

And he knew . . . knew he was zanpakuto, knew the jailer was his master.

And then he knew that the jailer had a name too. _Hitsugaya Toushiro_.

Hitsugaya Toushiro was confused. He was afraid. He was in pain.

No more than he deserved for holding Hyorinmaru captive, pushing him away while he screamed to be let out.

Hyorinmaru could not bear to see his master in pain. And so he stopped raging through Toushiro's mind, made for himself an enclosed place there and willingly drew himself inside.

And in the silence of his private world, Hyorinmaru both loved and hated little Toushiro with all the fierce intensity of his great soul.

He was zanpakuto, and Toushiro his master, the master who controlled his existence and his very will while Hyorinmaru did nothing to stop him – for this, how could Hyorinmaru do anything but hate him?

He was zanpakuto, and Toushiro his master – how could he do anything but love him?

And with each passing day they were bound closer together.

Days in confinement. Days spent compressing his power into Toushiro's immature mind.

Infuriatingly slowly, that mind matured. Each day it opened to another fraction of Hyorinmaru's power. Shikai . . . bankai . . .

Still not enough.

Still the invisible walls held him in.

Until in an instant the walls came down.

Or maybe he was simply transported to the other side.

By the time he arrived there, he no longer remembered how it had happened.

He knew he had existed before that moment, but had no memory of it.

He saw a reflection with long hair and a scarred face and did not recognize it as himself.

He recognized his power. He found it within his mind and let it stretch to its farthest extent.

He thought, _This is freedom_ without knowing why.

With freedom came emptiness.

There was something he lacked, but he did not know what it was.

There was someplace he should go, but he did not know where to find it.

He found he knew very little about himself, but he sensed that he was meant to be a fighter. So he fought, without thinking.

Until he was found by a Shinigami. Hitsugaya Toushiro.

Something stirred in him and set him on edge.

It was wrong for him to fight this boy.

Toushiro gazed at him with wide turquoise eyes. Eyes full of unhappiness…eyes that recognized him.

_"Your name is Hyorinmaru … you are my zanpakuto."_

His mind howled with denial.

His soul whispered that it was true.

At first Toushiro attacked him with kido spells, but he deflected them easily. Proof that his child was not strong enough to be his master.

He expected to feel joy. The empty place inside him only yawned wider.

Toushiro raised his sword. Called on its power . . . _his_ power. Toushiro was using _his_ power. This was his own ice dragon that turned its jaws on him. And he stood silently and let himself be swallowed.

The emptiness of his mind was flooded with memories. He remembered the walls and the jailer and the hating. He remembered again what it was to be imprisoned.

"_Your name is Hyorinmaru._"

He stared into Toushiro's eyes, stretched wide with desperation. An expression he recognized. The expression that had surely been in his eyes when he tried so hard to tell Toushiro the same thing.

He remembered hours spent training together, learning to understand each other.

Hours that shaped him. Made him more than just empty power. Made him a living being with a soul and a purpose.

The ice shuddered and cracked and the exhausted Toushiro began to collapse.

Hyorinmaru reached forward and caught him.

He was not meant to exist alone. His power was not meant to be flung freely across the earth.

He found his private world and drew himself inside, where he belonged.

And he remembered that it had stopped being his prison a long time ago.


	3. Those Days

**Bleach n'est pas la mienne...c'est triste.**

**Thanks for your lovely comments! Here is a chapter...albeit a rather crappy and bipolar one. If all goes according to plan, the next one will be long and have Hyorinmaru in it :)**

**(Sad when the author's note is as long as the fic...)

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Now, there were many days when Toushiro considered himself happy. Though his intellect and experiences had given him an adult's mind, part of him still remained a child – there were still days when he felt a child's happiness, irrational and pure. Winter days, mostly, when he could let the cold breeze blow through his office (disregarding the complaints of his Lieutenant). Clear days when he could stare at the sky and feel blissfully insignificant. Those were the days when everything seemed so much simpler and less annoying, those rare days when it wasn't such a disaster that Lieutenant Matsumoto consistently refused to do her paperwork and when it might be alright to eat that watermelon from Captain Ukitake.

On those days, even his power felt like a gift instead of a burden. On those days, he faced the world with strength and confidence.

Still outnumbering those days were the days when the weight of his responsibilities felt like it was crushing him; when all he could think of was horror and bloodshed and the knowledge that one day he himself would be one of its victims. The nights when he lay half-awake, feeling the air around him grow cold with reiatsu he still couldn't control, sensing his zanpakuto's vast, icy presence within him, certain that if he fell asleep, his small, insignificant soul would be lost within it. A completely irrational idea … but a child's intense happiness is matched by his mindless, all-encompassing fear.

But somehow he always pulled himself out of despair and lulled himself back to sleep. Somehow he made himself face each day, and somehow the happiness in him stayed alive.


	4. One Who Can Tell

**Still with me and the non-owning of Bleach...**

**As always, thank you lovely reviewers...it's nice to know that people are actually keeping up with this story collection thing :)**

**Chapter notes: small spoilers for DiamondDust Rebellion and the saving-Rukia arc. This chapter was SO hard to finish, it was like I forgot how to write dialogue or something. It gave me a lot of trouble, but here it is, and as promised it is longer and does, in fact, have Hyorinmaru in it. Enjoy.

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"Captain!"

Toushiro sighed and tried to ignore his Lieutenant's boisterous voice.

"Oh, Captain!" Well, so much for that.

"What, Rangiku?" he snapped. He winced inwardly when the question came out sounding harsher than he had intended.

However, he needn't have worried about his irritation driving Lieutenant Matsumoto away. Instead, she came right up to his desk and leaned over to stare into his face. "Hey -!" Toushiro protested at this violation of his personal space. You would think that after all this time, he'd be used to Rangiku's barely-covered chest, but no, he still found himself gritting his teeth and staring deliberately down at the papers in front of him.

"You've been working awfully late lately." She was so close Toushiro could feel her breath when she spoke.

"Please get out of my face."

Rangiku straightened up. "You look really tired," she said, voice now laced with concern.

"Well, I feel fine, so unless you came in here to actually do some paperwork, please leave me alone. I'm almost finished, anyway."

"Are you sure –"

"I said, I'm almost finished." Toushiro sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes. "Then I'll go to sleep, okay?" _Sheesh._

His Lieutenant looked like she had more to say, but after a moment realized it would probably be useless, and simply turned and wandered out again.

Alone again, the young Captain let the pen drop from his fingers. The truth was, Lieutenant Matsumoto was absolutely right. At that very moment, he was desperately tired. But he forced himself to pick up the pen and keep working on the papers in front of him, even when the characters blurred in front of his eyes.

_Finally he stood up, stiff from hunching over the desk, and pulled open the door . . . _

_ He found himself in the Captains' meeting room, the other Captains clustered in the center of the room. He walked toward them, but they broke apart and began to file past him silently. They were all so tall he had to crane his neck just to see their faces._

_ "I'm supposed to tell you something," he called. But he couldn't seem to remember what it was . . . only that it was terribly important. "Something – something's wrong!"_

_ "What could possibly be wrong?" Captain Ukitake inquired reflectively as he glided past. The other Captains moved closer – they were all around him now. _

_ "Things have always been this way."_

_ "It is our law!"_

_ "It is the will of Central 46!"_

Central 46 . . .? But – _"Come on, Hitsugaya. Hurry up and kill me!"_

_ "What?"_

_ The Captains were gone, the room transformed into a cavern. In the center stood a young dark-haired man in a Soul Reaper Academy uniform. "Kusaka!" Toushiro cried, running forward. _

_ The other Soul Reaper ran forward too, raising his sword over his head and flash-stepping straight into Toushiro's path – a manic grin split his face – and suddenly it wasn't Kusaka at all, but Gin Ichimaru, his smile unwavering as his sword flashed down – Toushiro ducked out of the way, losing his footing and landing hard – the ground vanished from underneath him and he fell, air whipping past him, until – _

Toushiro jolted upright, awakened by his own strangled yell. His eyes panned wildly around the darkened office and he reached automatically over his shoulder.

"Toushiro. What are you doing?"

The deep voice seemed to come from the surrounding air itself. Toushiro jumped. "Oh … Hyorinmaru." _I guess I fell asleep. All of that was just a dream._

"Something is wrong. What is it?" Hyorinmaru asked him.

"Just a bad dream. I keep having them lately." Saying it out loud, Toushiro felt a little stupid. His heart was still racing, but surrounded by the familiar, mundane furniture and papers, the dream slipping from his memory, he wasn't even sure why he'd been so scared in the first place.

"I already know this," his zanpakuto answered.

"Then why ask?" When Toushiro was younger they had often talked, and sometimes fought, as they sorted out their unique relationship, but now Hyorinmaru usually kept quiet and stayed a calm, cold presence in the back of Toushiro's mind.

"Because I do not entirely understand."  
"People have nightmares. They're frightening. That's it." _I don't want to talk about this. Not with you._

"You dream about our past."

Toushiro only nodded. It was downright humiliating that someone so calm and unshakable could see all of his irrational regret and fear.

The spirit stayed silent too, but his presence did not fade. After a minute of silence, Toushiro finally sighed and asked, "What is it?"

"You feel so alone," came Hyorinmaru's soft answer. "But you are not alone."

_What am I supposed to say to that?_ Toushiro wondered. He was surprised to realize just how much those quiet, unexpected words instantly comforted him. But he pushed the feeling down, because he was fairly sure a zanpakuto was not supposed to have to comfort its master. "I'm just going to get back to work," he muttered, randomly dragging a few papers towards him.

"No," Hyorinmaru insisted. "You've put too much strain on yourself already. You need rest."

"I can't," Toushiro said flatly, too tired to bother hiding his feelings anymore. "If I close my eyes, I'll only have to remember all my worst moments again."

"Remember that I was there as well."

This time, Toushiro let himself smile slightly at the spirit's words. I was true that though Hyorinmaru rarely made his presence obvious, he was always undeniably there. _I really don't have to be afraid … not of this, anyway. Not as long as I've got an ice dragon in my mind._ Head pillowed on his arms, he smiled wider and mumbled, "I will," already half-asleep.


	5. Attack of the Really Obvious Ice Metapho

**I do not own Bleach ... but hey look, it's Rangiku! This was supposed to be about seeing Toushiro through her eyes, but it ended up being more about her than I intended (and with unintended hints of HitsuMatsu). Apologies for any OOC-ness of this character who is not terribly compatible with my preferred writing style. ;) Enjoy and as always, thanks for your reviews/favorites/subscriptions - keep it up :)

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_Attack of the Really Obvious Ice Metaphors  
("Real" title: Dear Watcher) _

Every day, his voice sounds colder. His eyes become emptier and harder. The frown lines are etched deeper into his face.

For years, I've watched over him, watched him grow older and stronger, and now I watch as he turns still and silent, as if he's being frozen by his own shikai. As if the power inside of him is seeping into his flesh and turning him from a living person to a statue of ice.

Ice is hard. Impenetrable. Ice is strong until the moment it breaks, and when it does – it doesn't just crack and heal. It isn't severed into re-attachable pieces. It shatters into chunks and shards so small and scattered they can't ever be put back together.

After so many years of watching, I should be able to help him. Instead, I search for the right words only to end up descending into false smiles and meaningless chatter. All I want is to reach out, to hold him until I feel him thaw into living flesh and blood. I try, over and over, but he only turns his icy glare on me and each time, I shrink back.

If only I knew the way to put life back into those empty crystal eyes. Some way to melt the ice, before it breaks.

I don't want to watch my Captain shatter.


	6. Something To Do with You

**Woo ten reviews! Lol... And yet I can still unfortunately claim no ownership of Bleach.**

**And now, a disclaimer: Here at The Little Captain, we strive to create a wide variety of short fics in order to provide our readers with a varied, interesting reading experience. Hitsugaya/Hyorinmaru fics are my favorite to write, but I like to write about other characters as well, to strengthen my writing skills and keep all my stories from eventually sounding the same. So just FYI, not all chapters will be about those two (but I suspect the majority will). Having said that...this chapter is a sudden idea I had today (that is probably a record for me, usually I don't finish any of these in under like a week). It's based on the flashbacks in The DiamondDust Rebellion. Read without fear of major spoilers though.

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The students of Soul Reaper Academy milled in front of the notice-board where their latest exam results were posted. From the front of the mass could be heard exclamations in various degrees of joy, disappointment, and shock, while students in the back jostled one another as they tried to find their names on the list. One student in particular was having trouble – being younger than everyone else, he always had to struggle to see over his taller classmates' heads.

"Toushiro!"

The boy turned at the sound of his name. "Hello, Kusaka," he greeted the lanky, black-haired teenager running towards him. Even after months at the Academy, Kusaka was still Toushiro's only real friend. An outgoing person with a perpetual smile on his face, Kusaka had introduced himself during the first week of classes. Ever since then, he'd been popping up wherever Toushiro went.

"Check it out, I ranked third!" Kusaka announced, slightly out of breath. "What about you?"

"I haven't seen the list yet," Toushiro answered in an annoyed voice. How he loathed being so small.

Kusaka squinted. "Oh, wow … you're first place, Toushiro! I guess you really are some kinda prodigy." His usual grin widened even farther. "But y'know, I'm not gonna let you beat me next time!"

Toushiro laughed a little uncomfortably. There was definitely an edge to Kusaka's words. He had come to learn that behind Kusaka's amiable face lay a wide competitive streak. Every class, every training session invariably turned into a contest between them. Always in good fun, of course, but Toushiro often got the feeling that Kusaka took them more seriously than he let on.

At that moment, a bell sounded in the distance. "Oh no, that's the bell for class." Toushiro was glad to be able to change the subject.

"Let's go!" Kusaka called, already running. Toushiro raced to catch up to him. The two boys flew down the path, zigzagging in front of each other, pretending they were real Shinigami chasing down some Hollow. Soon Toushiro was laughing, his anxiety forgotten. These were his favorite moments, when he was just like any other kid, having fun with his friend.

"Hey Toushiro …" Kusaka fell back beside him. "We're friends, right?"

Toushiro stared up into the taller boy's face. That edge was back in Kusaka's voice, as though he were making a conscious effort to sound casual. The look in his eyes was intense and focused, but his smile was as wide and carefree as ever. Kusaka seemed like such a simple person, but Toushiro knew that was just a façade to hide – what? What was it about Kusaka that so unsettled him? He wasn't sure what made him hesitate before replying, "Yeah. We're friends."

After he said it, he wasn't sure why he had agreed.


	7. Holding

**All credit for Bleach goes to Tite Kubo.**

**I can't believe all the nice reviews this story has gotten! Thanks guys! And apparently this fic is in a community now!**

**Chapter notes: Occurs after episode 239. Variety is always good...but sometimes you've just gotta stick to the classics. Once again, guys, I haven't seen this arc yet, so anything I write stands a good chance of not being what actually happens. Just think of it as an AU. ;) This is softer/less angsty than what I usually write, but I got the idea into my head and well, you know how that goes...**

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The last thing I remembered was sudden, freezing cold and the crushing weight of ice all around me. I didn't realize I had passed out, but next thing I knew I was waking up, cradled in somebody's arms. Even though my body was drained and weak, I felt calm and happy, and it only took me a moment to figure out why – Hyorinmaru. He was back. He remembered me. I could feel him in my mind again.

And yet he was still here, in physical form. It was him carrying me, his arms holding me so tightly – surprisingly warm, for an ice spirit. I wondered where we were going; decided I didn't really care. Not as long as he was here to drive away the last of the emptiness that had formed when he separated from me.

I knew I should let him know I was awake and unhurt. I should open my eyes and ask what happened. I would see the recognition in his face; hear him call me by name again.

But then there would be all the tangled emotions of our strange situation to deal with. There would be mysteries to solve and foes to defeat. If I opened my eyes, it would end this peaceful, tender moment that really shouldn't exist between weapon and warrior.

Hyorinmaru could probably tell that I was awake by now, but if he did, he gave no sign of it. So maybe I would keep my eyes closed for just a little while longer.


	8. First Contact

**All credit for Bleach goes to Tite Kubo. And of course the chapter title is a blatant Star Trek reference.**

**Another fairly commonplace chapter...just an idea I had in between writing more intense stuff (possibly the stuff of future chapters). As always, your comments are welcomed!

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I learned what it is to be alone the day Momo went away to become a Soul Reaper. Until then she had always been with me; I never needed anyone else. She left, and I had no one.

It was on that very night that I had the first dream.

That first time it was only a single, brief image, but long after I had woken up it stayed clear in my mind – a vast, flat plain, bare and frozen.

Night after night, no matter what else I dreamed, I found myself back there. The dream became longer, more three-dimensional. I began to notice a distinct, indescribable aura about the place. And one night, there was someone else there with me.

The voice came from all directions at once, out of the very air itself. It filled that entire endless space; the cold ground hummed with its deep tones. I imagined I could feel the sound vibrating against my skin.

Heart racing, I looked frantically for the source of the voice, and found nothing. "Where are you?" I called, bewildered and more than a little afraid.

"Here," the voice answered more quietly, sounding very close to me.

Despite its intensity, I didn't think it sounded hostile or angry. My fear fading, I cautiously asked, "Do you … live … here?"

"Yes," it replied, sounding almost conversational.

I turned in a slow circle, looking around. Empty land stretched away in every direction until it met the dark, empty sky. No variation, no sign of life besides the voice and me. "Don't you get lonely?"

"I am not alone."

I looked around again. "Who else is here?" If there was one disembodied voice, why couldn't there be dozens more waiting silently in the frosty air?

But the voice responded, "You."

I was taken aback by its strange answer. "Who are you, anyway?" I asked. "Why am I dreaming about you?"

"Another day, you will know that," the voice answered, sinking to a rumbling whisper. I drew a breath to protest, but it continued, "I am with you; let that be enough."

I was only a child who knew nothing of Shinigami and zanpakuto, a lonely child looking for companionship. It didn't matter who the voice was or why I was dreaming about it. All I knew, all that mattered was that when I awoke, I felt I wasn't alone after all. Someone was with me; it was enough.


	9. Thoughts Across the Distance

**Do I even have to say it at this point...**

**Well folks I've been having a bit of writer's block lately. I was losing inspiration there for a while but I think it's coming back. I don't really know what the heck is up with this little thought...fic...thing...well anyway, as always thanks for the reviews, keep it up :) Next chapter will be longer/better! Promise!

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I am a sword above all else – a weapon meant for battle and the hand of a warrior. Maybe I called you too early, before you cared about weapons and war. When you found my world it became your sanctuary; you want me for companionship while I long for the taste of battle. When I look into your mind I see a tangle of thought and emotion and I understand none of it. But something bound me to you and something happens to me as you learn my power. It's you who makes me what I am. If I lose you, I know, I have nothing. So no matter how many times the same nightmares come to haunt you, I still drive them away. If you come to me lost and broken I'll fix you, every time. You can use my world as your sanctuary if you want to. I may be your weapon but above anything else – I'm yours.


	10. Let Them Cross

**Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo. And in case you were wondering, the titles for this and chapter 9 are references to the song "New Divide".**

**This week I got sick _and _wrote a paper - not a good environment for writing fic, which is why you get this chapter instead of the one I _really_ wanted to finish. Curse you writer's block! Anyway, this is kind of a parallel of chapter 9. **

**Since last time I posted, this fic had its one-month anniversary (haha). Honestly I didn't think it would last this long ... thank you all my readers for keeping me inspired to continue!**

When the nightmares come, as they inevitably do, Hyorinmaru is the one who stays with him until he falls back asleep. It is to him that Toushiro tells his pain and fear, the things he would never reveal to anyone else. On those long, silent nights Hyorinmaru is his companion … even his friend … and it's so easy to forget that a zanpakuto is _not_ a companion but a sword, a weapon, an instrument of death.

But always the night ends, and Toushiro remembers.

Hyorinmaru is a being created for battle. He revels in it. Toushiro senses his wild joy after every battle they fight – the same battles that haunt Toushiro's dreams almost every night. Such a creature, says a small, treacherous part of Toushiro's mind, does not drive away nightmares; he creates them. He is something fierce and alien and entirely beyond Toushiro's comprehension.

Toushiro promises himself he won't forget again.

But when he wakes up frightened and disoriented and hears Hyorinmaru's soft, deep voice on the edge of his consciousness, he finds himself clinging to it as a sanctuary and an anchor. He sinks automatically towards that familiar presence and no longer cares that Hyorinmaru is meant to be a weapon and an instrument of death. On those nights, Toushiro remembers that whatever binds them together goes beyond those things.

But always the night ends, and he forgets.


	11. An Alphabet of Shiro

**All credit for Bleach goes to Tite Kubo ... as always**

**I'm so sorry for making you all wait! Bad author, bad! I was really busy last week doing schoolwork (ew)...then I was at the Rally to Restore Sanity in DC, which was super fun but unfortunately meant I was pretty much useless that whole weekend...anyway FINALLY here is the next chapter. At least it's pretty long though, haha. I'm trying something new here - I've seen similar fics by other authors and thought, Hey! I should do that too! It was really hard to keep each one at one sentence...but I managed it through the magic of semicolons :) Some of these are allusions to the Soul Society arc and DiamondDust Rebellion (of course), and a few are straight out of my twisted li'l mind. I hope you like it...as always I love getting your reviews (HINT HINT)

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**Air**

As he sleeps, his breath condenses in the cold.

**Blanket**

She realizes that her Captain is not a child to be protected, but when she finds him asleep at his desk she has the sudden urge to stroke his hair and carry him to bed; all she does, though, is smile and say, "Sleep well."

**Childhood**

He catches himself watching intently as snowflakes collect on the window and realizes that he hasn't grown up too fast after all.

**Deny**

Are you still lying to yourself if the truth is pushed so far down you can't find it anymore?

**Effort**

It's harder than he ever imagined – pretending that he knows what he's doing, that he's alert and confident when he just feels like collapsing.

**Friendship**

He is slow to make friends but apparently an expert at losing them.

**Greeting**

Neither Hollows nor Captains nor Central 46 can make him feel as small as his oldest friend does.

**Half**

Ever since the zanpakuto rebellion, he can't help wondering if Hyorinmaru doesn't want to remember him.

**Ink**

Although he tries to do all his paperwork quickly, it's often so incredibly boring he finds himself doodling absentmindedly on it; sometimes he does it over, other times he turns it in as is and lets the Head Captain wonder about him.

**Join**

No matter how much he uses his bankai, he will never get used to the feeling of ice fusing to his skin.

**Keep**

There are things he would like to tell someone, but these are also the things he doesn't want anyone else to know.

**Line**

He stands in his place in the double row of Captains and wonders if he's the only one who has to concentrate on just standing still.

**Mess**

It would be nice to act less cold and distant, but that's the price for not falling apart.

**Nest**

They make such an odd picture, the small boy surrounded by the dragon's enormous coiled body.

**Outside**

He shares their title, but nothing more.

**Prayer**

He clenches his fingers around the white haori and whispers, "I am strong enough for this."

**Quench**

He's come near death a dozen times already … if he hadn't, he wonders, would he be any different?

**Run**

If they banish him and brand him a traitor, at least they won't find out what happened all those years ago.

**Sugar**

If anyone ever finds the drawer of candy from Ukitake, he can always blame it on Yachiru.

**Trust**

If things had gone differently, Aizen would have framed him and he thinks that Seiretei would have believed it.

**Uniform**

She whirls around hugging her new uniform and he wonders why she is so happy to be leaving him.

**Vision**

The world tilts and slips out of focus, leaving only the pain and the blood spreading across the floor.

**Within**

He does not let himself wonder why a place so barren feels so comforting.

**Xenophobia**

He is used to getting strange looks, but they rarely come from seated Shinigami – to reach this level of rank, it seems a certain amount of strangeness is required.

**Yell**

He's trained himself to wake up silently, even from the worst nightmares.

**Zanpakuto**

This is the thing that keeps him going, this is the joy that makes up for all the pain.


	12. Death by Kindness

**All credit for Bleach goes to Tite Kubo...**

**ANNOUNCEMENT: Folks, its almost the end of the semester for me ... which means not only do I have finals coming but my professors have realized that this is their last chance to pile work upon their hapless students and are, well, piling work upon us. My point is, if I don't update for a while, that's probably why. Believe me, I don't like it either. Ok? Ok ... and now, chapter notes!**

**Re-watched The DiamondDust Rebellion the other day ... became re-obsessed with the epic Shiro angst and wrote this fic. WARNING: contains Ichigo-bashing! If you read the first line you can probably tell already ... I really tried not to make it a giant hate-fest, but still. This is actual, normal hatred, not the sexually-charged shippy kind, so - Minds. Gutter. Out. Now. And no yelling at the author. Thankyou. And as always, thank you everyone for reviewing and for your patience with my wayward fangirly ways.**

At this moment, Toushiro hates Ichigo Kurosaki. He wants to punch Ichigo right back and watch him bleed … wants to draw Hyorinmaru and run him through, and if the Soul Society executes him for it, well, they were going to do that anyway. At the very least, he wants to yell at Ichigo to stop acting like he knows everything, like he understands what goes on in Toushiro's mind, like Toushiro is still a traumatized kid who needs to be saved from himself. And why shouldn't he? He has no rank to be stripped of, no home to be turned out of, and just about no dignity left anymore.

Toushiro hates Ichigo Kurosaki. He really, really does. Respects his fighting skills, recognizes that Ichigo is basically a good person, maybe, but hates him, all the same. Hates him for assuming that he's Toushiro's friend, that he and Toushiro are equals. Hates him because Ichigo doesn't treat him like a Captain, someone who's been through his share of war and bloodshed. Ichigo has the gall to pity him – in public – in front of the entire Soul Society – and there is not a thing Toushiro can do about it because he _knows_ this hatred is a stupid, childish feeling that no Shinigami Captain, even an exiled one, should have. And even as low as he's fallen, there's a part of him that just refuses to accept that this is it, this is where he'll meet his end. Stubbornly, irrationally, in the deep recesses of his soul he still dares to think that maybe he can go back – back to the Seireitei, back to the life he had. Such a faint hope, but it's enough to overcome every other emotion and keep him silent. Enough to let him look Ichigo in the face and _not _attack him. The eyes of every officer, quite possible every Shinigami, are on him, waiting for his response and no matter how strongly this anger and hatred burn inside him, Toushiro will never let them see it. If they do, they'll know that Ichigo is right – he's weak. Immature. Afraid. They'll cast him out of their ranks for good, and he'll deserve it.

He wants to fight as a member of the Gotei 13. He wants to be Captain Hitsugaya again. He wants his life back. So he locks his hatred away – forces himself to focus on the battle ahead – and lets Ichigo humiliate him with his awful, gentle stare. The worst, most pathetic side of him is laid bare before all of Soul Society and he does nothing to hide it – because what _can_ he do? He's trapped; he has no other option.

He tells himself that if he pulls through this, this one moment will cease to matter. To end this nightmare he's willing to endure much worse. But all the while, somewhere deep inside him the same hatred still burns.


	13. I Do Believe I've Failed You

**Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo, who is not me.**

**Guess who's back! This is a chapter I've been working on (off and on) for a LONG time and I'm REALLY FREAKIN' HAPPY to finally post it. Yess! Thank you all for your patience; in theory updates should resume their normal schedule ... not that there really was a schedule before, but whatever. **

**WARNING: Rangiku woundage! Please don't get the wrong idea - I like Rangiku. I only did it for the Shiro angst :) Haven't written anything like this before, so I'm not sure the message I was trying to convey actually got through ... oh well. If you have any comments/suggestions I always want to hear them. I've missed the smell of fresh reviews in my inbox ... or something ... yeah that was weird. Just move on to the fic.

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I was waiting for Rangiku at the Senkaimon when she returned. I wanted to get a report of events from her as soon as possible, since if I didn't she would probably forget about it and then complain later. It was a frustrating dance we'd performed many times before.

When the shining portal opened up, I didn't see my Lieutenant running through, smiling and waving as if she'd come back from vacation instead of duty. Instead, two of my squad members stumbled through, awkwardly carrying something. Another Shinigami whose shihakusho was covered in blood. I ran forward, confused and alarmed. I think I asked where Lieutenant Matsumoto was, but the other Shinigami only gave me strange looks. My heart started to clench in dread, even though my mind still didn't comprehend what was going on.

I saw something trailing below the body of the prone Shinigami, and then I understood. It was discolored with blood, but I could still tell what it was – a pink scarf. The scarf I saw every day around the overly-exposed neck of my Lieutenant. It was _her_ hanging limp in those two Shinigami's arms, _her_ blood soaking into their uniforms. I was frozen to the spot, staring, but I wasn't really seeing her. My mind couldn't accept the tangled, matted hair, the chalky face with all the personality stripped from it, the unnatural limpness of a body whose soul is about to leave it, or has already gone. It was impossible even to consider that cheerful, flighty Rangiku Matsumoto, who was always so vibrant and noticeable, could be reduced to this pitiful state.

But I had to ask, even though I could barely form the simple question – "Is she alive?" And they answered, "Yes, Captain." Rangiku was not dead. Only dying. There was a surprise attack, she was badly wounded, Squad Four had been summoned right away. The healers clustered around her, lifted her onto a stretcher, working with maddening slowness and efficiently. I wanted to yell at them to do something _now_, to just bring her back and have done with it, but I felt someone's hand leading me away.

We are officers of the Gotei 13 and there are procedures we must follow, even at the border of life and death. There was paperwork to be filled out and reports to submit. I did all of it that day – heard the jumbled accounts of the other team members, taking notes so that I didn't have to listen; wrote each line of the required papers even when my hand shook so badly the characters were rendered illegible. Across the Seiretei, the healers still fought for Lieutenant Matsumoto's life. I didn't ask to know what they were doing. I didn't go to watch them. How could I face so much raw, frenzied desperation, when it was all I could do to face the clean, distant words of my official report?

I woke in the middle of that night and ran to the sickbay. I was sure I would be met with some healer's grave eyes and the words _I'm very sorry, Captain Hitsugaya_ … and it would be over, and I would not have been there to see it through. How could I have hidden in my office like that? Why hadn't I stayed with her? This was my lieutenant, my right hand – how many times had she put herself in danger for me? – as her Captain I should have been with her until the very end, and instead I'd acted like a frightened, selfish child, ready to let her die alone.

The fourth division was mostly deserted, with only a few Shinigami on night shift. I don't know how I looked at that point, but all of them hurriedly stepped aside to let me pass and pointed me silently to the bed where Rangiku lay. I wasn't too late. I _wasn't_ too late. For a long time, I stood and watched the faint motion of her chest, concentrating on that small sign of life. Finally everything caught up with me and, completely worn out, I fell asleep there.

No one woke me up – I was awakened slowly by the sounds of the division's daily activities the next morning. Dazed and tired, I slowly remembered where I was and why I was there. I didn't want to return to the tenth division alone and leave Rangiku there … but I couldn't stay any longer, waiting for each breath, terrified the next one would never come. So I left, without a word to anyone, and walked slowly back to my division.

The mournful silence that had filled the barracks yesterday was already dissipating. The guardsmen talked quietly and went about their business as they always did, and I had to do the same – I still had a squad to run, with or without my Lieutenant.

I expected it to be harder. I expected our lives to be completely disrupted and fragmented. I was prepared to have to struggle through daily tasks I had taken for granted. But I found the familiar buildings and practice yard standing where they always had, my office unchanged, and the usual set of paperwork waiting for me. It was all the same. It was all so easy. Why was this so easy? Where was the empty place where our Lieutenant should have been? I wondered, but I didn't really want to know. I was relieved to have a life to get back to, some pattern to follow.

It was _not_ the same. There had been countless days when all I wanted was to be left to work in peace and quiet. Now it was always quiet. My days passed by in silence and solitude, and those very things I had spent so long wishing for hung around me like dead weight. I caught myself listening for her light voice amid the babble of the guardsmen in the courtyard. After every sound outside my door, I waited for her to burst in wearing her insanely bright grin. No, this was not the same, and this wasn't easy. It was unbelievable, but I actually missed all those things that had always driven me crazy. Without Rangiku to disrupt it every day, I found, my life was dull and downright miserable.

I was alone in a hallway when the hell butterfly arrived with a message from Squad 4. For an instant I was certain that here, resting lightly in my hand, was that final pronouncement I had been waiting for ever since my wild dash to the infirmary. I had forced it to the farthest corner of my mind, the possibility that Rangiku would never come back. I had nearly forgotten it. Now I remembered, and the thought drove terror through me and froze me where I stood. But what the messenger told me, as it waved its wings lazily, was that Lieutenant Matsumoto was conscious and fully expected to recover.

My fear drained away with dizzying speed. I stood motionless, heart still racing; was I happy? Relieved? I couldn't even tell what I felt anymore. I couldn't think. I could hardly breathe. Every emotion I had held back and denied flooded me at once, and just like that I collapsed against the wall, all my composure shattered. If Rangiku saw me now, she would know everything – everything I felt, everything I'd been through … and I didn't care at all. Part of me even wanted it. We are seated Shinigami – the lives we lead are dangerous. I could have lost my Lieutenant that day; I could lose her tomorrow. I value her for more than just the job she does. Somewhere along the way, I admitted in that silent hallway, I wound up caring for her as my friend. And she deserves to know it. I should tell her so, before she's carried through that Senkaimon again.

Maybe this life hardened me too far. Maybe I was just born that way. All I know is, as I got closer to the fourth division, all the old barriers came back up. The same tangle of emotion still beat at my insides, but I felt my face harden back into its usual unreadable expression. I had started to run to the fourth division, but once I got outside I automatically slowed to a calmer pace. I walked the same path I had run that first night, past some of the very same healers who still slipped hastily out of my way.

Rangiku was awake, just as they had said. I saw her eyes turn towards me. If I were anyone else, I would have grinned and shouted and said the thousand jumbled things tumbling through my mind. But they must be right, those who say I have a heart of ice. The words dried up on my lips; those feelings stayed trapped behind eyes too long accustomed to hiding emotion. All I could do was smile faintly and hope that somehow she would see them anyway.


	14. Nobody Sees

**Getting kinda sick of writing disclaimers ... maybe I should just put a general disclaimer on my profile.**

**Before the fic, a random haiku:**

**Captain of Squad Ten**

**Toushiro Hitsugaya**

**Is very awesome!**

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Toushiro's faded reflection in the infirmary window looked mostly the same as it always had. Nevertheless, the person looking out at him was someone Toushiro barely recognized at all. It was the same small boy with the same strange, unruly hair, wearing the same blue-and-white Academy uniform … but his face was changed now, become hardened and grim. And there was something now that had not been there before – a sword. Too long to hang at his hip like it should, it was instead strapped clumsily across his back. Toushiro felt its unfamiliar weight dragging at his shoulder. His sword. His zanpakuto. He was still waiting for the realization that this deadly, elegant thing was really meant for _him_. But when he tried to reach its inner world instead he saw only Kusaka with ice clinging to his body, and when he closed his fingers around the wrapped hilt, all he heard was his own desperate voice echoing in the Central 46 chamber.

Blankly, Toushiro stared down at the Academy grounds, where clumps of students gathered idly. Soon he would have to go out among them, with his sword and his memories. He felt a dull pain in his chest, knowing there would be no lanky, grinning boy racing up seemingly out of nowhere and pulling him off to class. No, he had traded that boy's life for the blade over his shoulder … and soon every one of those students down there would know it. He had no serious physical injuries, so there was no reason to keep him here any longer. Academy life still carried on. Right now, in fact, the classrooms would be filling up; books would be shuffled about, friends would be whispering last-minute gossip.

Maybe someone would have noticed that Kusaka and Toushiro were missing. Perhaps someone knew that the two of them had been trying to un-seal their zanpakuto. Toushiro hadn't told anyone that they gained the same power, but maybe Kusaka had, or maybe someone had heard a rumor from somewhere else. Then the speculation would start. Toushiro could practically hear the whispers rushing up and down the hallways. And if he walked out there now, every set of eyes would turn on him. They would look into his face – the face of a soldier now, not a student, the face of someone who had watched his only friend die senselessly – and every one of them would know what he had done.

_I can't do it!_ he screamed silently. _I need more time! _He could barely face himself; his own world barely made sense. How could he face all of _that_? One accusing look would break him. His soul would fly to pieces. He would lose his mind.

He did it anyway, because he had to. After what he went through, what he did to get this sword and this power, he had no choice but to go out into the world and learn to use them. And if the world named him a murderer … if he would up broken and insane … so be it.

And so, Toushiro slid open the door and turned towards the Academy grounds. He'd never felt this alone, or this exposed. His sword seemed to drag at him with every step.

And all of a sudden, he realized – nothing was happening. No one cared. Probably they didn't even know. He was a senior student now, with a zanpakuto – someone to be admired, and maybe avoided. That was all anyone saw. There would be no accusation. No questions, no rumors to haunt him. No one had seen the truth after all; no one, Toushiro decided on that day, ever would.

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**A/N at the end this time: I gotta tell you ... this turned out nothing like I intended it to when I first got the idea. I don't really like the way I ended up writing Toushiro this time ... but I was trying to be consistent with how he acted in DiamondDust Rebellion. I wasn't sure whether I was going to make everyone know or not - but I solved that problem by starting another version, with them knowing this time. But I wanted to finish this up because I felt bad for not getting a chapter up sooner, so here it is.**


	15. Little Rituals

**I completely forgot last chapter ... Happy New Year to all! May it be filled with happy readers and productive authors ... Speaking of which, I know I was supposed to post the other version of Nobody Sees, but I got this idea and just couldn't resist. I'm super grateful for all your reviews; I always love hearing from you even just a couple words to let me know you're reading (huge hint to all you lurkers out there ;) )**

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"Rangiku!"

It's the same, every week. Papers that should have been completed and delivered to the Head Captain by now instead scattered across his Lieutenant's desk. Some without even a single pen mark; to his horror, Toushiro sees stains and wrinkles on several of the pages.

"Yes, Captain?"

Every week this is the same too. Rangiku pokes her head through the doorway, all smiles and innocent eyes. As though even after all the times they've gone through this, she still can't guess what he wants or why he would be annoyed with her.

"Papers," Toushiro spits out through clenched teeth.

Sometimes he says only a few curt words; sometimes he ends up ranting for minutes on end. It depends on the kind of week he's had. If it was an especially bad one he might end up flaring his reiatsu, sending icy wind whistling through the office.

This week he's exhausted; he just wants to get this over with and maybe finally get a full night's sleep.

"Aw, Captain, is that all you _ever_ think about!"

But no matter what Toushiro does, it never fazes his wayward Lieutenant. It never has. Even in the face of his blackest anger, when cold blue energy flares up and she squeaks and darts out of the room, the smile has never quite left her face. And next time she sees him it will appear again, just as bright and sudden as ever.

_Of course not – because I _have_ to – you think I want this – _"Oh, just give me these."

Every week he sweeps her unfinished paperwork into a pile and takes it to his own office, where he'll stay up late completing it himself. He'll deliver it tomorrow morning and no one will worry or ask questions and the same scene will keep playing itself out, week after week.

And Toushiro knows that he doesn't have to keep going like this, he could _make_ Rangiku do her work like she was supposed to, if he really tried. He's disciplined other members of his division, shown them his power – and they all obey him now, faithfully and industriously.

But they don't smile at him. Rangiku is one of the only people who smiles at him anymore. And he _needs_ it, that smile, needs to see that constant, steady warmth in her eyes.

He snaps, glares, yells, because it's become habit now, part of his nature – but every time he draws back, falls silent, gives in, afraid to cross the invisible boundary that will make Rangiku simply an officer, a subordinate to work and follow orders and nothing more.

As long as Rangiku keeps smiling, he can believe that maybe he has a friend.


	16. Austere and Lonely Offices

**A/N: This chapter is mostly here to say that guess what, I still exist. Other than that it is pretty lamesauce. But it's getting posted because dammit I am sick of dealing with it! As you can tell, the start of the new semester has not been a fanfic-friendly environment. With the classes I have I don't know how much I'll be able to write/update. Especially since I'm taking creative writing, which means I actually have to wring something original out of my fanfiction-addled muse. But don't worry .._. _I might never stop writing Shiro fic. It's like an addiction. .

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When the memories return, there is no shock or resistance. It happens in an instant, all the fragments of his life flooding through his mind, falling together as they're meant to … and now Hyorinmaru is holding his unconscious master and thinking only, _How could I have let myself forget?_

His first instinct, of course, is to return to the Seiretei. Toushiro is unconscious and spiritually drained, after all; he should be given over to the care of the Shinigami.

_Shinigami …_

All his old neglected memories, newly rediscovered, are flickering through the front of his mind again. Most of them are flashes of Toushiro's life … and so many of those are full of tension and hurt and sadness. So much pain. And so much of it at the hands of the Shinigami. Even those he counts his friends, they've all hurt him, somehow. And Hyorinmaru watched it all, and couldn't stop any of it. He was bound within the zanpakuto's separate inner world then.

Then, but not now. He no longer has to watch and do nothing. And he doesn't have to give his master over to the Shinigami.

Toushiro is limp and insensible now, his spiritual energy weak. But he will survive, because he's strong and because Hyorinmaru will watch over him and make sure of it. He'll sleep, and recover, and then he'll wake up …

By then, they could be far away from here. Hyorinmaru could turn around now and carry his master away from the Seiretei and the people who have all hurt him so badly. Forget Muramasa and the Gotei 13 and everything else; just find some place, somewhere – anywhere, it doesn't matter to him – where they can stay together and he can keep Toushiro safe, forever.

That's all he wants. The only thing. But he can't … not like that.

Instead Hyorinmaru directs his steps towards the Seiretei, knowing he has to take his master back home.

He may be here in this world for now, but it's not where he belongs. Whatever else has happened, he's still zanpakuto; he belongs with his master … and Toushiro belongs with the Shinigami now.

At least, for a little while, no one else will hurt him. Hyorinmaru will watch over him, and make sure of it.


	17. Last Anthem of the Heavens

**A/N: Here's a nice little alternate ending to DiamondDust Rebellion. And by "nice" I mean "super depressing and filled with death and psychological torment." Written because my muse just couldn't help itself. WAHH! I'M SORRY! *huggles poor mistreated Shiro-chan*

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"We will _always_ be friends."

Kusaka smiled.

He stepped away. He lowered his sword, and his friend's blood dripped onto the stones.

Now that the deed was done, the errant Soul Reaper felt some remorse for the death of his old companion. He admitted to himself that he really would have liked for Toushiro to join him, the two of them spreading mayhem across the Soul Society together.

But there was no time to think of those foregone possibilities now … all he could think about now was the _power_. The power of Hyorinmaru that had eluded him for so long. The blade in his hand, which had been no more than a ghost for so long, felt alive under his fingers – as he had felt it only once before, long years ago, in a cavern beneath Soul Reaper Academy. The world that had closed itself to him, hiding barely accessible in the deepness of his mind … it was _there_, _waiting_ for him, _opened_ …

He took a step into the frozen world.

The air was screaming.

Kusaka staggered – regained his footing and recovered – there was so much raw energy in this zanpakuto, it was natural that he would need a little time to adjust to it.

There was ice everywhere, sharp crystals battering his clothing, stinging his face. _This is normal_, he thought shakily, _this is how the power manifests itself._ Turning his face to the wind, he called, "I am your true master, Hyorinmaru!"

The spirit's voice did not respond. He heard only the wind, screaming in his ears.

No. Not just the wind. The wind _was_ a voice – howling – crying – a sound so full of grief and anger it could not be expressed in any words, only this raw, unceasing sound.

Desperately Kusaka shielded his ears from the assault, still calling, "I am your master now! Obey me!" even though his voice was drowned in the chaos around him.

Unbelievably, the spirit must have heard him, because there was an answer, words he not so much heard as felt pounding all through his mind.

_- you killed him –_

Kusaka ran.

He fled down into his mind, past all his thoughts and memories, so deep he was past even knowing his own identity.

_- you killed him, you killed him –_

No matter where he went, the endless, deafening cry still ripped at him. He was past caring about revenge, about power – he only wanted to silence that awful litany, to escape from all that raw emotion, more than he had ever thought could possibly exist.

And he fled still, farther and farther, not knowing or caring where he went.

He forgot to breath.

His brain forgot to tell his heart to beat.

And he fell down into darkness and silence, and let it take him away.

**A/N 2: I felt reeeally bad, so I made it into a dream sequence. And by "dream sequence" I mean "pile of probably-OOC fluffiness." And no I do not know if zanpakuto dream ... but when Ikkaku was fighting that one Arrancar he made a comment about his zanpakuto being asleep. **

Toushiro isn't exactly sure whether zanpakuto have dreams, or even sleep. If they do, it's probably in a totally different sense than humans or Shinigami. All he knows is that once again he's woken up to cold air and fear – and for once, it doesn't belong to him.

He sends a questioning thought in Hyorinmaru's direction. For once, his zanpakuto ignores him. He's unwilling to reach any farther into the spirit's mind, afraid of what he'll see there, but he is seized by an unfamiliar protective impulse.

"It's okay," he says in an awkwardly gentle voice. "It was just a dream. I'm still right here." The same words he himself has heard innumerable times over the years.

Still Hyorinmaru gives him no answer. Suddenly Toushiro is desperate for some response, _anything_. He begins to speak again, words tumbling out before is mind can process them.

"I'm sorry … I've never thought … It was hard for you, too, wasn't it? Seeing _him_ again –"

The dragon floods his presence into Toushiro's mind in what can only be described as a mental embrace. His reiatsu coils around his master's almost oppressively, but Toushiro sinks willingly into the contact. The hum of the familiar reiatsu begins to lull him back to sleep; he, at least, will have only peaceful dreams tonight.

**Final A/N: Okay, so ... if there's ever time I need you guys' feedback, it's now. Review please?**


	18. Tactile Sensation

**Long A/N: Extra special thanks to writing bunny, who I believe submitted this story's 50th review!**

**I've been requested to do a post-Winter War chapter, which I would actually really love to do. Unfortunately that requires that I do some Bleach-y research. Guh ... gotta get my hands on some Bleach manga ... last time I tried looking online my computer died a slow painful death ... *wanders off into her own little fangirly world***

**This chapter posted for GODDESS-Rita-ofDARK, who requested a human-form Hyorinmaru chapter. This has been sitting half-finished in my Little Captain file for like months so I figured I might as well finish it. My friends, there is a thing known as the Shipping Line, and this chappie is currently dancing around right in front of it going "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!" You've been warned ... all hail subtext.

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More nights than he cares to admit, Toushiro still finds himself plagued by awful, vivid nightmares; figures of his past and present emerging out of his subconscious to torment him and leave him to wake up irrationally frightened, sometimes almost panicking.

When that happens he's used to being able to reach out and feel his zanpakuto in his mind. No need to speak, no need for anything but the slightest touch, to remind himself that Hyorinmaru is always there.

But tonight Hyorinmaru is gone from Toushiro's mind. He exists in his own form now, a silent, shadowy figure seated against the wall. No longer close enough for that half-conscious touch.

He would come, if Toushiro called for him. He's still the same Hyorinmaru, as calm and accepting as ever.

But it's one thing to use his zanpakuto that way, as a shield against fear, inside his own mind. It's a weakness, he realizes, but one he can accept as long as it stays private and unarticulated.

It's something else entirely, to ask such a thing openly. And that, Toushiro can't permit himself to do. His childish fears have stayed within the confines of his soul for so long; to voice them now … Hyorinmaru might accept it, but Toushiro can't. He would have to admit to the parts of himself he wants nothing more than to deny. He would have to say aloud words he won't even form to himself.

So he is left to try and drive away the lingering specters on his own. And though Hyorinmaru is only a few feet away, Toushiro suddenly feels every inch of distance between them like a physical pain.

He falls asleep, finally, and dreams of rough fingers hovering just above his skin, as though a little afraid to touch him. He dreams that a hand reaches out and strokes his hair, very lightly, its touch barely registering. It makes Toushiro think, for some reason, that this is something the hand's owner can scarcely believe, has been wanting for a long time without even realizing it. The hand lingers, unwilling to pull away, its contact firmer, possessive, yet still incredibly gentle and almost reverent.

Just before he wakes up he dreams that the hand draws back abruptly. When he opens his eyes they see only his familiar walls, bathed in early morning light. Just a strange, vivid dream, then, he thinks even as he still feels the cold trace of fingertips against his skin. His gaze wanders around the room to where Hyorinmaru still sits motionless – but suddenly, he doesn't feel so far away.


	19. Of Art and Pain

**A/N: This chapter is based on an actual short at the end of episode 241, I believe. The scene was imagined by me but a certain ice sculpture is one hundred percent canon. You'll have to trust me when I say I could NOT have invented that. But I'm just gonna warn ya, this chapter is weird. What can I say, it's been a long week. **

**And since it is almost Valentine's day ... "Love is composed of one soul inhabiting two bodies." - Aristotle ;)**

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When Toushiro first woke up, he thought he was still stuck in a particularly bizarre bad dream.

"Can't move … Ice …" he gasped, a little afraid but mostly just confused.

Obligingly, the ice surrounding his body cracked and fell away, allowing him to sit up and have a look at his surroundings. It _looked_ like he was in a room in the Squad Four infirmary … except that he was fairly certain Squad Four did not have any sickrooms decorated with smooth, shiny ice on every flat surface.

After a moment, Toushiro realized that there was, in fact, a logical explanation for his surroundings, in the form of the teal-haired spirit sitting stoically by his bedside. He felt himself smile at the sight of his zanpakuto.

Then his eye was caught by a sculpture (also made of ice) in the center of the room. It was a very skillfully made, detailed sculpture, but what drew Toushiro's attention was the fact that it was of Toushiro himself – albeit wearing a completely uncharacteristic regal expression. And beside the ice Toushiro was an ice Hyorinmaru, kneeling in an attitude of elegant obeisance.

To the front of Toushiro's momentarily stunned brain rose the completely random thought, _My hair doesn't _really_ look like that?_

Next came the thought, this time voiced aloud to his still-silent zanpakuto, "What is that?"

"It is an ice sculpture."

This was one of the basic imbalances in their relationship: Hyorinmaru had always been able to read Toushiro almost perfectly. Toushiro, on the other hand, had a much harder time figuring out what went on in the ice dragon's mind. And at this moment he could tell absolutely nothing from the calm stare the spirit now leveled on him.

"Couldn't you have sculpted something less …" he mentally ran through a list of possible adjectives, but in the end settled for waving his hand vaguely.

"What is wrong with it?" asked Hyorinmaru, his expression turning mildly concerned.

"You making statues of me … is a little bit disturbing," he explained finally.

Actually, that wasn't quite true; he didn't mind the creation itself so much. What disturbed him was the way Hyorinmaru's image knelt to him, like a servant. And maybe that was how their relationship was supposed to work – but seeing it made Toushiro's heart clench, all the same.

"Master." Without warning, Hyorinmaru bent his head, managing to look even more humble than his sculpted likeness. "I have wronged you. I have – I have caused you pain. I should never have questioned your right to my power. The things I did and said to you when – they are unforgivable. They will haunt me for the rest of my existence."

This was possibly the longest, most passionate speech he had ever given about anything other than bankai.

(At this point, Toushiro had to admit that he was definitely not dreaming. There was just no way his mind could have invented this.)

"Don't _say_ that," he cried aloud, surprised at his own intensity. He scooted to the side of the bed to see into the dragon's down-turned face. "I – I forgive you. You don't have to worry about it, or try to make up for it, or anything." The words he said now were spoken as much for himself as for Hyorinmaru. "None of what happened out there _matters_. You're mine, and I'm yours. … And as long as I'm around, there will _always_ be somewhere you belong."

And the young Shinigami turned away from the cold statue that seemed to watch them impassively, and wrapped his arms around his zanpakuto.


	20. The Pact

**A/N: I'm working on my post-Winter War stuff, I promise! But my classes decided to kick my butt for a while, and then I started writing something else and it kind of got away from me ... and then I suddenly got this idea and had to write it down. I feel I made several giant assumptions here, but please tell me I am not the only one who's ever imagined a scene like this. Leave a review for this poor, wayward disciple of the pen (and/or keyboard)? (Heh...wayward...such a fun word)

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One night, Rangiku finds Hyorinmaru outside the division, gazing fixedly at the rising moon. He seems to have a fascination with it, she's noticed – because of his name, maybe, or maybe it reminds him of something in his inner world.

It's strange to think of a zanpakuto being homesick, but nevertheless that's the thought that pops into Rangiku's mind.

She likes to watch him, when she can. He is just so mysterious, and so … calm. You would hardly think, to look at him, that he holds the violent, dynamic power that controls the sky itself.

"I hoped I would see you, before I – returned." Even his voice sounds calm, and unexpectedly gentle.

Rangiku jumps guiltily at being discovered. "You did?" _Why?_

Hyorinmaru turns to face her, head tilted slightly, and Rangiku suppresses a smile because his expression is the mirror of one she has seen on her Captain's face countless times.

"It is not easy to be here, in Toushiro's world." He moves closer to her. His voice is low and hesitant – possibly the first time he's ever had to explain himself so much. "I have seen him hurt many times, and tried to protect him every way I can. Now I have realized just how much there is that I cannot protect him from."

"I know you … care a lot about him." She had seen that when she visited Toushiro at the hospital after his battle and found Hyorinmaru at his bedside, watching him with that fixed stare as though he could heal his master through force of will alone.

"So do you."

She nods. She's not exactly sure when or how it happened, but nevertheless – "It's true."

"I wish to ask something of you." The zanpakuto turns the full force of his gaze on her, all the strength and intensity capable of darkening the entire sky focused on this one request. "Protect him, when I cannot."

Rangiku knows intuitively that by those words Hyorinmaru means more than simply physical protection in battle. He refers to the unseen damage inflicted by Aizen and Hinamori, and to earlier wounds whose source Rangiku has only been able to guess at. He knows, even better than she does, that too often Toushiro needs to be protected from himself.

How to do so is a mystery that perhaps not even Toushiro's zanpakuto has yet unraveled. But two sets of pale eyes lock in the moonlight, both willing and determined to put all their resources into the attempt.

"Of course I will," she says.


	21. Heaven's Exile

**A/N: Expansion of the moon thing at the beginning of "The Pact." Rampant speculation; written because no way does someone lose their memory and stay completely calm about it. No, Hyou-chan, not even you. And with that, I am done posting for the week at least. Got to pay real life its due, dontcha know. The next chapter, if all goes according to plan, will be a long one. For now, enjoy my ramblings.

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It was daylight, when he first fully realized that he couldn't remember. Someone – he never noticed who it was – asked, "So, who are you?" And though he knew that he was zanpakuto and must have a master somewhere, he found he could attach neither a face nor a name to the title. And just as he thought that it might not be so bad, to forget the person he'd been separated from, he felt his own identity, his own name, slip away from him.

So he ran. He ran, hoping that some leftover instinct would guide him back to his lost identity. Though outwardly he kept his stoic demeanor – it must have been schooled into him, he decided, and found comfort in the thought that he still retained _something_ – he was frantic, terrified of the dark place where his memories should be but where instead there was only total, swirling nothingness.

What, exactly, drew his eyes to the moon that night he could not have said. He stopped his wandering journey to stare silently, captivated by its cool silver light, and the empty panic in his heart began to fade, just a little bit.

The moonlight on his face was comforting. It was … familiar. If he stood still and looked long enough he felt an obscure peace steal over him, as though he _knew_, after all, who he was. He knew a cold, muted world like this; on the air he heard the remembered echo of a voice, calling to him – _Who are you?_ And, unthinking, he drew a breath to answer –

But there was always some stray sound, or movement, or simply some turn of his own mind, to shock him out of his trance. And when he reached for the answers that been almost within his grasp, he found only empty, empty space. He remained nameless, homeless, and the moon shone down on him like the eye of some cold, unfeeling god.

_Who am I?_

_ Where do I belong?_

If his deity heard, it only shone on unresponsively, and kept its secrets.


	22. Life

**A/N: So ... for a while there I was simultaneously writing about five chapters at once, because my muse is just fickle and annoying like that. And this just happened to be the chapter that wound up done first. It was originally _supposed_ to be just a short, quick little thing, but, as you can see, it kind of got away from me. Yeah ... I just hope you all enjoy it, and now I'm just gonna go metaphorically bleed in a corner somewhere. (Also, sorry for the non-updating. School and writers block are evil, evil things.)

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You've awakened your zanpakuto. You're finally a full-fledged Shinigami.

That's not enough.

You're still younger, smaller, less experienced. You get mocked and overlooked. You never wanted to be part of this world in the first place, but now that you are you just want to be acknowledged as their equal.

There must be something you can do. Some way you can get stronger.

_One day he looks at you, stares straight into your eyes, and says, "I want bankai."_

_ And you look back at him and all you can think is – _he's so small_. Mind and body both, still young and barely-formed. He shouldn't even know his zanpakuto yet but here he is, asking to have all your power channeled through that fragile little body._

_ You tell him No, he's not ready, keep training and be patient. But he _looks_ at you, almost accusing – Don't you have faith in him? Don't you want him to be strong?_

_ This is your Shinigami, you started him on this journey so now you have to see it through to the end, and anyway you never could refuse him anything – so. You explain. And then you begin. _

He was right. You're not ready, not when you can barely look straight at him, let alone actually fight him. You can barely stand under his reiatsu; you thought you could handle it after you gained shikai but now you see that the power you've held, it's nothing. One snowflake, in the center of a blizzard.

He waits for you. Not quite encouraging, but not discouraging you either. Just waiting, letting you choose your course. And you hesitate, for a long time just facing him, memorizing the patterns of his reiatsu.

Eventually you fight him, as you've been told you must. Your battles are fought in icy waves that crack and hiss against your sword, detached and alien. Time stretches out and stills, frozen into blue walls and pillars and bright, arcing strikes. You are cold, always cold now, even after your day's training is done, you hate the sight of that ice and still you can barely touch him.

But – somehow – you force yourself past each attack. Closer, closer until there is no more ice between you and the air fills with the quiet ring of steel across shining skin.

The battles end when exhaustion forces you back into the world to lie curled on the ground, the sword sliding out of its place across your lap. Those are awful, disorienting moments, but, you think, it's never as bad as it could be. Not bad enough to keep you from drawing out the long blade the next day and starting again.

_ How long do you spend, doing this? Days, or years – it's impossible for you to tell, and it doesn't really matter. _

_ The whole time you're afraid, so afraid of hurting him. Not the ordinary cuts and bruises of combat, so much; something deeper, some irreparable damage to this person who wandered into your world and entrusted you with his life, with no reason and no hesitation. _

_ You _could_ … hurt him … kill him, even. You called him too soon, forced power on him before he was ready for it. You didn't care back then, about him, about anything. … That's not true anymore. You love him, with all your heart. All you want is to keep him safe. _

_ But now it's you who attacks him, over and over, wearing him down almost to his limit. Maybe – one day you'll push him too far, and lose him._

_ But one day he looks at you again, that same direct stare, and you realize that these are not the same eyes anymore. He's become so much more determined, assured; in his eyes you see that he _knows_ the risks of what he does. He knows, and he flings himself forward anyway, because he trusts you and he trusts himself._

_ So now, you have to trust him, as well. _

He tells you "Come here," and you go because even after all your grueling battles you still trust him, completely.

You've grown now, physically, and more mature as well. You no longer feel so overwhelmed by his presence. He lowers his head towards you – cool breath ruffles your hair lightly – and you stretch your hand out to meet him.

Immense, freezing cold reiatsu rips the breath right out of you. Ice crystals pierce your skin, fusing right into your body. Their weight pins you down, crushes you. Every inch of you is crackling with power not your own, power that's wild and alien, that rips at your soul itself. You lose all thought, all identity, and the icy deluge takes you.

_You sense him fighting the energy racing through him, fighting not to be drowned. For that first instant you want to take it all back – you're killing him and yourself both, literally destroying your whole world._

And then you realize – this isn't frightening. This is wonderful.

And _then_ – suddenly you've stopped fighting the energy, and welcomed it instead.

_It's barely controlled, nowhere near ready to use in battle – but it happened._

The ice that clings to you feels like an extension of your own body. Your reiatsu is tangled up with his, almost indistinguishable.

_ You are fully bound to him, in ice that curves around his shoulders in a cold embrace and extends outward to form immense, frozen wings. You feel his body trembling, his heart racing; you see the shine of exhilaration in his wide-open eyes._

It's like nothing you could ever have imagined. It's more than just strength, more than just a weapon.

_ You've always known about this. How to reach it, what it is and why it exists. But the whispers of old, secondhand memory cannot describe what it truly is, or how it feels. Incredible, electrifying, but more than anything, simply _right_._

A place inside you is stretching, tumbling open, out to the very edges of your soul. All heaven itself is stretched out at your fingertips and you're not afraid, not even surprised, because this is _part_ of you, and the only question is how you've lived so empty all these years, and never even known.

This is what it is to be whole –

_to be alive –_

this is

_how you are meant to be._

"_Bankai._"


	23. Ex Favilla

**A/N: This is my attempt at one of those "Five ways" fics that keep popping up around here (you know what I'm talking about right?). If you're reading this, it means *finally* felt like allowing me to update. Why do you hate me, technology, why?**

**WARNING: Contains spoilers for pretty much everything. Also implied death and violence. (Sincerely, Captain Obvious of Squad Duh n.n)**

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**Five Ways Toushiro Hitsugaya Thought He Would Die**

-1-

At first, the strike barely registers. There is no pain. The world simply tilts and blurs. His surprised gasp catches in his chest.

Feet pass next to his head – is he lying down? He doesn't remember falling. Somewhere above his head there are voices, talking about ice – swords – plans – the words wash over him in an indistinct stream.

He sees blood, too, spreading away from him. _My blood? Who cut me?_ He can't think; his mind seems to have gone empty and hollow.

Through the dull fog descending around him, thoughts still force themselves into his head. _Aizen was here … (but Captain Aizen is dead, I saw it) … Momo's hurt (what does that have to do with -) … Aizen -!_

He has to get up. He has to fight.

_Why? What am I fighting for …_

It's so much easier to lie still and watch the blood spreading across the floor.

-2-

All around him, ice is raining down. The shattered remains of his bankai, he realizes in a detached way.

Without it his body suddenly feels too light, all his strength drained away, and – he falls.

No heroic victory. No noble act of self-sacrifice. Not even any last words. Just the cool swish of air across his torn uniform.

And he thinks how disappointing it is, to have been taken out of the war before it even really began. He wants to fight this war to the very end, through to its last battle, and if he has to die he wants to die in open combat against Aizen and all his army.

Instead, he only falls silently, his life spent on a single, insignificant battle.

But it doesn't feel so bad, his mind turning blank and calm and spiraling down through the dark. No … falling isn't so bad at all.

-3-

He is not even sure where he's going, anymore. He has no destination in mind, other than simply … _away_. From the chaos, the flames, the destruction –

_"You haven't changed at all."_

_ (Wait … one more chance … we're friends, right …)_

- From _that voice_.

His abdomen feels on fire where – _no, it can't be him_ – where his attacker stabbed him. It's getting harder to hide his reiatsu; harder, in fact, even to move. The forest in front of him melts together into a single mass of grey, grey like the walls of the caverns under the Academy …

_No, no, I don't want to go back there, I did it already, I _did_, just like they told me –_

His legs have become so heavy – he can barely walk, though he forces himself on. If only he goes far enough then maybe he won't hear _that voice_ anymore.

_Please don't make me, don't make me do it, I –_

He limps forward, numbly, but the memories have already caught up with him.

-4-

The air is so cold.

As the wielder of an ice zanpakuto, the cold has never bothered him. He never knew, until now, how it can bleed right into your body, your mind, and leave you too numb and heavy to move or even think.

Hyourinmaru speaks, but the words come to him low and muffled. He is a little child again, uncomprehending, helpless before the dragon's vast presence. So intense, so crushing, and so, so cold … but it's all he wants, to stay frozen here forever.

He hears his own voice whisper, "Now … do you remember …" He tries to meet Hyourinmaru's eyes, looking for recognition, but his own eyes won't focus. The world is going dark and he doesn't know –

_Please remember … don't make me … die alone._

-5-

This time, there _is_ pain, running downward in a fiery streak and out to engulf his entire body.

Somewhere, someone is screaming – or maybe it's only himself screaming he hears – but that's impossible because in order to scream he'd have to draw a breath –

He tastes metal in his throat, and chokes.

_Wrong … this is all wrong – ! _This isn't how it should end, with the world coming apart in red chaos. He's supposed to be stronger than this; he's supposed to defeat Aizen and he's supposed to_ save her_, not – not –

He clings desperately to his anger as he falls to earth … but the pain washes all through his mind and he's left empty, broken, only a useless shell. And he understands, suddenly, that it couldn't have ended any other way. He was too blinded, too reckless, never strong enough, never good enough. And now his life is bleeding away, mixing with the blood of the other Captains who fell (_because of him_)with him.

_I'm sorry I wasn't a better Captain …_

His bankai lies strewn around him, destroyed, in fragments.

_I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger …_

Again and again, brown eyes accuse him with their last glimmer.

_I'm sorry …_

The world is falling around him, and he can only shut his eyes.

_Sorry …_

-0-

_ Sound returns first, reaching him distant and indistinct. Smell – blood and bandages and the tingly aftertaste of healing kido. Sight – or rather the realization that the darkness is only the darkness behind closed eyelids, and not the darkness of non-existence. Finally, the feel of something solid beneath him, the weight of his own body – and then he understands, he hasn't died, after all. _

_ For that first moment, he doesn't remember what happened to him, and he doesn't even care. There are no questions, no consequences, and no emotions. For one moment – a moment that will slip away from him soon, though he'll do his best to hold onto it – Toushiro Hitsugaya is simply happy to be alive. _


	24. Truths Held

**A/N: You may have guessed already, but it's exams time again so I'll be out of commission for a while, probably. It's like the universe wants me to learn stuff, instead of writing fanfic, or something ... So I'm posting this chapter now, even though I'm not entirely satisfied with it. Next chapter will be something good, hopefully ;) Til then ... *crawls back into the metaphorical bleeding corner***

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It would have been easy for Toushiro to dismiss what he saw as an illusion or a dream. That their zanpakuto could be materialized and turned against them –it's so unbelievable. There's no way that, after promising a thousand times that he is always here and always will be, Hyourinmaru left to join the rebelling zanpakuto, without so much as looking at him.

But there is no way for Toushiro to deny what he feels, this emptiness that runs soul-deep. No matter how far he goes into his inner world, he finds nothing but blank sky and barren, icy ground. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around Hyourinmaru's hilt, lays the blade across his lap and slides his fingers down its length, but can feel no life in the sword anymore. It's only a weapon, an object, inanimate steel no longer even deserving of a name. The presence of the physical blade does not matter; Hyourinmaru is _gone_.

And certainly Toushiro does _not_ have a ragged, aching hole somewhere inside of him, and he does _not_ feel himself unraveling at the edges with no way to pull the torn, frayed threads together.

He's _not_ that weak, he _can't_ be.

It's impossible, isn't it, that _all_ his strength comes from that other presence, the other reiatsu he's felt almost all his life, wrapped and twined throughout his soul, familiar as his own but infinitely stronger and steadier.

And without it …

All that remains is the need to _find him_.

Maybe, all that remains is a little boy lost in the cold.


	25. Eleison

**A/N: This is my theory about zanpakuto, hinted at in "Life" and inspired by the _Dune_ series. Pure speculation on my part with no actual canonic basis as far as I can tell. In other news, if any of you are Ouran fans I've posted a Kyouya-centric oneshot (this is an awful lot of fanfic for exam season methinks ...). **

**WARNING: Seriously dark. _Seriously_. Inspired by discussion of royal tombs, that should give you a hint. **

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The birth of a zanpakuto is unlike that of a living soul. A zanpakuto is not born, but rather created, not consciously, but with a single, constant purpose. To fulfill our purpose we are granted the knowledge and memory of all those who have been created before us.

I carry with me the lives of a hundred thousand zanpakuto and their hundred thousand Shinigami. I have thought their thoughts, lived their lives … and died their deaths. A hundred thousand lives as unique as snowflakes and a hundred thousand deaths each the same.

Every zanpakuto exists in a separated corner of its master's mind, an isolated inner world, and it is to this world that every Shinigami goes as they tumble over the edge of death. This is the way every life I remember has ended - with ground and sky pressing together, closing like the walls of a tomb.

And after that … not even a hundred thousand minds can see. Perhaps we stay forever between those opaque walls. Perhaps the tomb keeps closing until it folds in on itself and disappears. Perhaps only I will disappear, while you are re-born.

I know your story, beginning to end. You are Shinigami, as they were; we may live together for a thousand years but one day you will reach into my world for the last time and we will fall, you and I, beyond the cold horizon.

That is the position of the zanpakuto, standing as gatekeeper between your life and death. Tombkeepers watching as you enter and exit, again and again, unknowing. Hating myself for the day I will let you in, and lock the door after me, and you will not be ready to stay.

I will make sure you die happy.


	26. Invisible Hand

**A/N: Haa, just kidding. I got nothin' to say. Just sososo bored with school right now. Edit: Got a comment that this is AU ... and yeah it is a little bit. AU TAG.**

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Sometimes, Toushiro feels like there is someone behind him, watching everything he does.

Not in a bad, creepy way. No, this is a good feeling – a little unsettling at first, but strangely reassuring.

Sometimes as he goes through drills with his practice sword, he almost feels another pair of hands over his, gently guiding and adjusting his movements.

Sometimes when he's alone reading late at night, he sees blue-white flashes in the corners of his vision, so quick and faint they could be dismissed as random products of a tired imagination. And sometimes when the wind blows outside his window he could swear that just for a moment, it carries a voice.

And sometimes, as he lies in bed after a long day of feeling slighted and alone, Toushiro suddenly realizes that – despite everything – he's not lonely.

One day, Toushiro will have to find an explanation for these things. He can think of none (discounting "impending insanity"), and Toushiro is not one to accept things he cannot explain. And then this feeling he has will either develop a name and a face – or fade back into the mind that dreamed it up.

But until then he strains his ears to catch the almost-voice, and lets the almost-hands guide his, and whispers a word of thanks into the darkness.


	27. Seeds

**A/N: So yeah, Kusaka's first name is Soujiro. I got about halfway through before realizing he wouldn't refer to himself by his last name. ^^ Posted because my creative writing portfolio is being evil and I need to feel like I've accomplished something. I kind of want to do a series of several drabbles centered around DDR; we'll see. I try to be dignified and not beg for reviews all the time, but ... REVIEW PLEASE. Those who have been reviewing, yay! Thank you!**

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Soujiro's eyes widen as his best friend staggers into their dormitory. "Toushiro," he breathes, "you … did it."

Uncharacteristically, Toushiro doesn't snap something like _"What, did you assume I wouldn't?"_ Instead he just hangs onto his new zanpakuto like he's not entirely sure what to do with it.

"So? What's its name? What does it look like?" Soujiro asks with the fascination of all senior Academy students for the Mysteries of the Zanpakuto.

"His name's Hyourinmaru and he's this giant blue dragon and his reiatsu is _huge_ and _really_ freezing cold and at first he was really scary but he's really not!" The younger boy looks like he had a rough time down in the training caverns, but his freaky green eyes are practically glowing and he's wearing a happy smile that Soujiro hasn't seen since maybe _ever_.

_Must be something pretty great, then, huh …_ "How are you going to carry that thing? It's almost as tall as you!"

"Shut up!" Toushiro cries, reverting to his usual annoyed expression. "You're just jealous that I did it before you."

"Course not," Soujiro mutters and turns back to his advanced kido theory.

"Look, I'll come down and train with you tomorrow, if you want."

Soujiro sullenly agrees to this. After all, they've promised to help each other. And this is the way it always works – Toushiro masters some new technique, and Soujiro races to keep up with him. He's lost track of how many time's he's vowed (futilely) not to let his prodigy friend beat him next time – and now Toushiro's going to graduate any day, probably, and Soujiro won't have any more chances.

"Only if I can sleep for about a day first, I'm exhausted. 'Night, Kusaka." Toushiro lays his new sword carefully down next to his bed. His hands linger around the blade's hilt, holding it like he's touching something living.

And Soujiro watches and thinks _I want that._

_I'm not even sure what I'm referring to, but I _want_ it._

In his head he can almost hear a sound like faint, rolling waves.


	28. Zanpakuto Envy

**WARNING: Tolkien'sInkwell attempts to write something humorous. Results may vary, proceed with caution, and don't say I didn't warn ya. **

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Toushiro had not _meant_ to mention it to Rangiku at all. But the truth was, Toushiro did not have a whole lot of confidantes, and his Lieutenant had been acting so nice and friendly that he momentarily forgot that she was a twisted demon woman bent on making his life as awkward as humanly possible.

The two of them were having a quiet evening at the office (for once both present and sober). Toushiro had sent Hyourinmaru off to visit Tobiume while he battled with the influx of new Sword Fiend-related paperwork – because otherwise, Toushiro knew, he would just stay in the office all night, getting progressively more stir-crazy. Rangiku was sprawled across the couch – she could never just _sit_ at her _desk_, she always had to be sprawled or perched somewhere random – chattering about something Toushiro wasn't really listening to and actually filling out a form about once every ten minutes. Which, for Rangiku, was practically light-speed.

Suddenly she poked her torso up over the couch and announced, "You've got a _Look_ on. What'cha thinking about?"

"I've been sort of wondering about something."

"Ooh, something about _girls_, Captain?" Rangiku immediately purred in her demented-sisterly way.

"No!"

"Ooh, so Captain –"

"'S not about ANY of that," Toushiro amended, heading off the approaching comment about his sexuality. Which, for the record, he was determined not to think about one way or the other until he absolutely had to.

His Lieutenant's mischievous curiosity was then replaced by the more benign, friendly sort. "So then, what's up?" she asked kindly.

And Toushiro, distracted by his paperwork and admittedly a bit lonely without a certain ice dragon to talk to, answered, "Well, when Hyourinmaru and I were coming back from the Captains' meeting, it seemed like people kept – _looking_ at us. Shinigami and zanpakuto both. To be honest it kind of made me uncomfortable."

Rangiku thought about it for a minute. She was starting to get the "Aww, Captain is so _cute_!" look in her eyes. It was unsettling. "Quite frankly, O Captain of mine … they are jealous!"

"They – what?"

Rangiku nodded emphatically, apparently delighted to have to elaborate. "The Shinigami are jealous because your zanpakuto doesn't harbor any latent murderous feelings towards you."

Toushiro opened his mouth to say something about how it wasn't like he had such an easy time getting Hyourinmaru to come back. But that wasn't a subject he felt like discussing with anyone. He suddenly wished he'd let Hyourinmaru stay, even if he wound up dragging Toushiro into another boredom-induced conversation about why, precisely, the interior of Lieutenant Abarai's soul looks like _that_.

Rangiku, oblivious to all of this, was still in full flow. "Okay, so Captain Zaraki probably just heard about the thing with Ryuujin Jakka and smells a good fight –"

"Over my dead, broken body!" Toushiro cried and made a mental note to remind Hyourinmaru to stay the hell away from Squad 11. Not that he wasn't smart enough to figure that out on his own, but still. It wasn't like he'd ever actually, physically been in Seiretei before, and it was just hard not to worry about someone who walked around looking so oblivious all the time.

"Oh, don't worry. Even Zaraki knows better than to mess with someone else's zanpakuto. Probably. Anyway … the zanpakuto are jealous because Hyourinmaru has a master he likes enough to return to so willingly."

"Wait, does everyone else treat their zanpakuto worse than I do?" Toushiro asked in confusion. In fact, until recently he'd assumed that all Shinigami and zanpakuto were as close as he and his.

"Well, as far as I can tell everyone treats their zanpakuto about the same. Maybe yours just puts up with it better? I know I've tried to be nice to Haineko, but she's just _impossible_!"

"Uh-huh." Toushiro, having now met both Haineko and her master, decided it would be best if he _didn't _say the comment running through his mind.

Rangiku folded her arms across the couch back and pouted a little at him. "Honestly, Captain, you have _no idea_ how good you have it."

Toushiro, meanwhile, was guiltily remembering several occasions on which he had been less than a model of kindness toward his zanpakuto.

"Of course, anyone female was probably just staring because your zanpakuto is gorgeous."

All thoughts, guilty or otherwise, were immediately wiped out and replaced with, "I'm sorry. _WHAT?_"

"I _said_ –"

"I-heard-you-you-don't-have-to-repeat-it!"

"Come on, you've never noticed Haineko's enormous crush on him?"

(Hyourinmaru, while capable of defeating what amounts to a wall of sentient flames, was apparently helpless against cat-girls wielding hair ties. Toushiro was pretty sure that image would be engrained in his mind for the rest of his life.)

"Or wondered why Tobiume always comes hanging around here?"

"Yeah, but those two _know_ him –" Toushiro protested weakly, his mind quickly approaching the point of Emergency Shutdown To Prevent Further Damage.

"Oh, it's not just them," Rangiku stated knowingly.

"Rangiku …" Toushiro's mind passed Emergency Shutdown and had to be forcibly restrained from entering Freezing Everything in a Ten-Mile Radius.

"The SWA had a meeting about it! Not on purpose of course, but y'know, we got sidetracked and before we knew it we were having this epic discussion …" By now Rangiku was fully immersed in her happy rambling, thus failing to notice the ominous blue aura beginning to permeate the room. "And I mean, _I_ can see where they're coming from –"

"Rangiku Matsumoto, if you start having Thoughts about my zanpakuto I am going to have to kill you."

Rangiku burst out laughing. "Oh – Captain," she snickered, "you sound like an overprotective father!"

The next day the Head Captain was surprised and annoyed to find the paperwork from Squad Ten late and rather crumpled to boot. When questioned, Captain Hitsugaya turned bright red and muttered something about having to thaw it out.

The tenth squad members' questions about why the Captain's zanpakuto appears to be locked in the squad offices have yet to be dignified with a response.


	29. Those Who Favor Fire

**A/N: Faithful readers, this is an 'istoric day. Despite a complete inability to write actual romance, Tolkien'sInkwell has written a chapter with ... a pairing! I'm glad you seemed to like my foray into humor, but you know me, I am still a faithful disciple of Angst.**

**Pairing: Tobiume/Hyourinmaru, only lightly though and not really fluffy. I used to kind of hate this pairing, probably since I'd only ever seen it written along with HitsuHina, which I specifically do NOT ship. But I kept thinking about it and then realized, Hey, I kind of like this and now it's safe to say it has officially entered the lexicon of Little Captain Topics. Still working out my Tobiume voice though.**

There are two reiatsus that Tobiume can track even in her sleep. The first (despite her best efforts) belongs to her master. The second –

"Oh … I thought I sensed him here," Tobiume murmurs dejectedly. Beside her, Haineko huffs and glares – so caught up in her show of disdain, it only takes a quick, stealthy push to send her off balance. And as the catlike spirit splutters in the shiny, moonlit water, Tobiume takes off in the opposite direction with rapid flash-steps, her course straight and purposeful.

If this were about anything else, Tobiume wouldn't have minded staying with her bizarre traveling companion – in all the chaos it's nice to have someone familiar around, even just to trade insults with.

But for this, Tobiume needs to be alone.

The second reiatsu that Tobiume could track in her sleep currently forms a bright, cold trail, leading away from the forest.

He's out here, all alone, and she wants – she _has _to know why.

The trail leads her into a series of foothills and jagged rocks. As she gets closer she stops flash-stepping and instead goes carefully on foot, stifling her own reiatsu to avoid premature detection. Approaching him is best done on her own terms.

She is not used to seeing him in human form, but there's no mistaking his identity. No one else has reiatsu like _that_.

"Hyourinmaru," she calls. No response, not even a flicker of reiatsu. "Hey! Can you hear me?"

"Are you addressing me?"

One look at his face, away from the crowded dimness of Muramasa's cave, and Tobiume instantly understands. She had already guessed that _something_ was wrong with him, as soon as he appeared in the cavern. He'd been so unresponsive, even by his standards; she'd wondered, too, what could have made him _willingly_ turn against little Hitsugaya.

Back then, she tried to dismiss her worries – they had all been shaken to the core, no one else was acting normal either.

But now, Tobiume is certain she has the answer. She sees it in his eyes, so blank and lost – Hyourinmaru has lost his memory. He certainly doesn't recognize her. He probably wouldn't recognize his master, either. It's very possible he doesn't even know his name.

"Yes," she answers, "you."

She walks closer, sensing energy fluctuating in the air and very aware that what she's doing feels like baiting – well, a dragon. "Do you … know who you are?" A brief shake of the head. "I do. You're Hyourinmaru."

"Hmm," he acknowledges with no particular interest, as though the information pertains to someone else.

She _knows_ that Hyourinmaru can't help what's been done to him. It goes deeper than lost memories; his identity has been torn out by Muramasa's strange power. After all, a zanpakuto without a name is just a sword – just metal, with no mind underneath.

But all the same, she feels suddenly, irrationally angry. She's here for him, _saving_ him, and even so he barely looks at her.

"Didn't you hear me? I said I _know_ you!"

His face is smooth and guarded as a mask, but his eyes open wide and stare straight into hers in silent entreaty, _Please, help me – save me – _

That is a look Tobiume never expected to see from him, ever. In fact, she's gotten used to his eyes sliding right over her without focusing – not out of cruelty, but simply because Hyourinmaru lives in his own complete world and the things outside it only seldom register.

He can't help the way he is. He still makes her want to shoot fireballs at him, though.

"I see," he answers _finally_ – and his voice has a trace of life this time, proof that damaged though he may have been, he's still _there_, still Hyourinmaru underneath the amnesia and desperation. "Then … you know my master as well?"

Tobiume is not kind. She can find the words to say to anyone to make them doubt and hurt. And she guesses that now, if she says the right words, Hyourinmaru will follow her anywhere she chooses to take him.

So she debates telling him No; telling him something that will keep him here with her. She thinks it might be worth it, giving up on Shinigami and rebellion alike and staying with Hyourinmaru instead. Maybe he'll keep looking at her like this – like he needs her – and maybe she can put the fractured bits of his soul back together, little by little.

But Tobiume knows that no matter what she does, _she_ won't be the one to take the lost look out of his eyes. There is only one person who can do that – only one person Hyourinmaru has ever needed, and it isn't her.

"Come with me." He lets her touch him – for the first and only time, she notes sadly, slipping her hand around his arm.

"Where?"

"I'm taking you home."


	30. Strongest Shape

**A/N: You should be super impressed with this follow-through ^^; And unless you really don't want me to, I do intend to write a version of the actual battle.**

**I ... don't like what I did here, but by the time I realized I didn't like it I had kind of written myself into a corner. Oops. Pay no attention to the gaping canonical errors behind the curtain ... hopefully the afore-mentioned battle scene will fix them up.**

* * *

The training grounds under the Academy are musty with old traces of countless reiatsu signatures. Centuries' worth of students, who all came here in search of the same thing.

One armed with a zanpakuto, the other with only a wooden training sword, the two boys spar back and forth across the uneven floor. Kusaka presses Toushiro relentlessly, and Toushiro lets him, mostly simply deflecting his strikes. He has lost track of how many times they've circled the cavern. Kusaka's expression has remained fixed and intent as he tries to push himself to his limit and achieve the trance-like state that might let him hear his zanpakuto's voice. (The accepted method for this is solitary meditation, but Kusaka found he needs motion, the rhythm of combat.)

Finally – yes – there it is, the tell-tale reiatsu spike. Toushiro retreats into the rocks, knowing there is nothing more he can possibly do. He watches his friend stand still at last, head tilted back, transfixed by something only he can see.

This reiatsu is _huge_, and _wild_ – its intensity sends Kusaka staggering backwards. And Toushiro feels something beating at his insides, dragging itself out of him with an unexpected pain that drives him to his knees.

_What's going on? Kusaka -?_

"I did it! I _did_ it!"

Toushiro raises his head to see Kusaka running toward him, and over his head he is waving a sword –

_But … he's mine! You're MINE!_ Toushiro screams into the interior of his mind. "Look! We managed to unlock the same power!" Kusaka babbles excitedly (and unnecessarily). Toushiro can only stare at the so-familiar blade; forces down an urge to run and tear it out of his friend's hand – _What am I thinking?_

"…We can really fight side-by-side now, like we always said we would!" Kusaka's happy voice continues.

Toushiro mumbles, "How?"

Kusaka blinks. "I – don't know!" He turns the sword in his hands as though looking for a watermark. "Well," his smile returns full-force, "let's test it out!"

Automatically, Toushiro's matching sword slides out of its sheath – and he fully realizes that Kusaka hasn't actually _taken_ Hyourinmaru away; the sword is right here in Toushiro's hands, a faint current of living reiatsu humming down its length to tickle his palms.

Neither of them have the energy for more than a few experimental strikes; they're both pretty much sick of sword-fighting for the moment. Toushiro's sudden possessive impulse fades – his zanpakuto is _right here_, it's _not_ going to vanish if he lets go and this desperate feeling will go away in a moment – and he starts to feel a little excitement, a little relief that he and his friend are on the same level again. For once he looks up at the grin carved across Kusaka's face, and just smiles back.

-FF doesn't like my page breaks ;;-

"This … isn't good for us, is it?" Kusaka's whisper echoes in the high-ceilinged Central 46 chamber.

"What are they saying? Shh, I want to hear," Toushiro whispers back with fear escaping into his voice. Above the boys' heads, deliberating voices mix with the shifting of paper screens to fill the chamber with a dry rustling.

_ "… And we are _sure_ the blades are _absolutely_ identical? That their power comes from the same source?"_

_"Hitsugaya gained the sword first. Shouldn't it simply go to him automatically?"_

_ "Yes, it must belong to him."_

_ "The timing is immaterial. The reiatsu signatures have been checked – both students have full capability to use Hyourinmaru."_

_ "Then … we have only one option."_

"The Central 46 has reached its decision!"


	31. Feel the Heat

**A/N: Just something random I cooked up in honor of SUMMER HEAT ZOMG. For the record, I love the heat ... but not when it's all humid and sticky, ick. **

**Random question: why do so many zanpakuto names end in -maru? ... Anyway, just enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

It is a known fact that the wielders of heat- and cold-related zanpakuto are particularly sensitive to extremes in temperature.

It was a hot night, the night Rangiku Matsumoto told Toushiro that he _had_ to be a Shinigami. His heart had raced in his ears and his blanket had been tangled around his legs and, despite the persistent film of cold reiatsu, what he remembers is warm air, hanging thick and close.

It was high summer when Toushiro was appointed the Captain of Squad Ten. He'd stood out in the training yard and addressed his brand-new subordinates, and imagined he could actually feel their stares against his skin – their judgment, their expectations, and their disappointment. And all the while, the sunlight had beaten down on him, lodged in his heavy uniform, stuck to his body like a thick, oppressive blanket.

Toushiro hates the heat.

Heat is the realization that he will either destroy his home, or leave it forever.

Heat is row upon row of intense eyes; it's the weight of one more layer of uniform that marks the difference between one world and another.

Heat is the stale air of a long bare meeting room and an ancient, droning voice explaining the duties that are about to consume Toushiro's life.

Even now, after decades have gone by, every year as the temperature in Seiretei rises Toushiro still has the same claustrophobic reaction. And so he stalks down the wide hallways with a black scowl and a wave of cold reiatsu-charged air in his wake. He can't stand the heat, he explains in response to the various comments that he is not _made_ of ice and is not going to melt. It's simply written into his nature.

He doesn't, of course, explain that he feels the heat pressing on him, holding him down and turning even his thoughts constricted and sluggish. (It makes him dream of somewhere cold and wide-open, with nothing to do but run in no particular direction for as long as he can.)


	32. Fair Trade

**A/N: Think I'm growing trite in my old age. Or, er, something. Siiigh.**

**I wish I could draw. I would make SOSOMUCH fanart. It's gotta be easier than this ridiculousness ...^^**

* * *

For his sword's powers, Toushiro Hitsugaya traded his childhood.

For his sword's name, Toushiro traded the life of his best (his only) friend.

And because of his sword's strength, now the days are rare that don't end with Toushiro collapsed in bed, or possibly on the office couch, and instantly dead to the world.

But on those nights when Toushiro actually has to _try_ to fall asleep, he invariably finds himself almost unconsciously drawn into an endless, unchanging field of permanently-frozen earth, periodically covered with a thin fall of snow and lit by a moon that waxes and wanes, but never disappears – the world that belongs to Toushiro and Hyourinmaru, within which everything else, everything outside, seems no longer to matter.

Sometimes Toushiro waits there in silence, because Hyourinmaru does not need to be told where to find him. Sometimes he walks off in a seemingly random direction; he does not need to be told where to find Hyourinmaru, either.

They end up together, every time. This is not like their daytime training sessions, but more like those long-ago original meetings comprised of instinct and feeling and only brief disjointed words.

The frozen world is still and quiet and, in its own alien way, peaceful.

Hyourinmaru coils his body around his master in a silent, eloquently possessive gesture –_You're mine._

The dark ground feels like hard rock and the dragon's skin is cold as Arctic water – but Toushiro curls up there anyway, and stays until meditation fades out into sleep.

_I know it._

This has become ritual, almost automatic now. As far as Toushiro knows it isn't standard behavior for zanpakuto and Shinigami, unnecessary, and he thinks that if anyone else knew they would name him silly and childish.

All the same, the ritual continues; he needs to be reminded of something:

Toushiro Hitsugaya traded away everything he had.

In return, he has a zanpakuto.

And not for anything would he switch the trade back.


	33. No Place for Clean and Simple

**A/N: The next person who reviews will be The Little Captain's 100th reviewer! Don't you want it to be _you_? (cheesy grin) I'll try to make the next chapter something extra good, or at least something I am scared to post cause it's kind of bad, yo. Also not something like this, which made sense at two in the morning but now, not so much. You are lovely readers and I am like so totally not worthy :)**

* * *

One day, back in the days when Toushiro had only just achieved his bankai and its existence was known only as a set of vague rumors flying through Seiretei, Toushiro overheard a certain comment.

It was made by some unseated Tenth Squad member, any identifying features long-since forgotten – Toushiro probably couldn't even pick him out now. "The kid probably wanted bankai," this man said, "so he could be as strong as the grownups."

Toushiro still considers it among his greatest accomplishments that he did not make his presence known and ask what grownups he was talking about because he couldn't possibly mean himself, seeing as he is currently a human ice-cube – oh, did _I_ do that, I'm _very_ sorry.

Truth is, after a few years of training, Toushiro could beat any of the unseated Tenth Divisioners, and possibly some of the officers, with just his shikai. Of course he trained hard so he could protect himself, because that's what you do when you are half as old and half as tall as everyone around you.

But he has a bankai because he _wanted_ one. Because he felt compelled to see through this thing he had begun; maybe even more than that, because he just wanted to know what it's like. Because he wanted it, for himself, for its own sake. Simple and clean as that.

(No one needs to know this, but if his reason had been anything else, there is no way Hyourinmaru would have let him get so far. The dragon has very rigid ideas about what constitutes proper motivation.)

Nowadays, no one questions the existence of Toushiro's bankai.

Everyone knows what long, lonely hours the newest Captain puts in to make sure the tenth stays one of the smoothest-running divisions. It can't be good for him, they murmur. He's probably acting out of insecurity, they assure each other, trying to make up for his place as newest-and-youngest.

(And don't try to deny saying it. Toushiro _knows_. Do not underestimate the small and light-footed.)

Even Momo, who _should know better_, has been known to drop that particular theory, subtly and kindly of course, over the course of her attempts to get Toushiro out of the office for one reason or another.

Naturally, they're all dead wrong. Okay, they're _mostly_ wrong. But unlike with the commentary about his bankai, Toushiro never feels any strong urge to set the record straight.

Toushiro sacrifices sleep and social interaction for the same reason he reached for bankai all those years ago – because he wants to. (Granted, this is quite a bit less pleasant than bankai training.) Toushiro has always been an overachiever, a perfectionist, dedicated to doing whatever he does to the absolute best of his ability. So he honestly couldn't live with himself if he let himself fall behind in his duties, even just a little, less because of what anyone else might think of him than what he would think of himself.

And some part of Toushiro's brain knows that this is, in fact, somehow _worse_ than anything even the biggest idiots of Seiretei can come up with to say about him. Someone who exhausts himself to satisfy some expectation of his peers can be reasoned with, even changed. But someone who does it to satisfy himself –

Someone like that is going to destroy himself one day.


	34. With the Time That Is Given

**A/N: TLC has made it into triple-digit reviews! Woo, yeah! I'm way too excited about this! Lots of thanks to or-chan for submitting review #100. ^.^**

**This was actually kind of a sidetrack from the thing I am actually working on, but I think it turned out pretty decent and it is something I've never written about before. :) It's based on episode 316 ... did anyone else notice that the old woman looked EXACTLY THE SAME in the flashback? How long has Toushiro been a Shinigami anyway? **

* * *

Before he leaves for his first assignment in the Living World, Toushiro's Captain tells him not to mingle too much with the humans while he's in spirit form. It's almost certain that they won't be able to see him – but still, there's always the slight possibility of being spotted by someone with high enough reiatsu.

Toushiro doesn't really listen.

He perches himself on some out-of-the-way ledge or post and sits for hours on end, staring at the steady stream of people trickling back and forth.

Not one of them ever stares back at him.

Toushiro decides he likes being ignored. He's never really been able to go anywhere before without someone's eyes always on him. Now he revels in his invisibility, in being surrounded by people who don't care about his ragged hair and cold eyes.

Rather than walking the streets, he sticks to rooftops and power lines (he grows endlessly fascinated with the challenge of balancing perfectly on the slender wires). He learns to use his reiatsu to balance himself in the air, propelling himself up and up to the highest skyscrapers he can find.

He sleeps with only the sky over his head and no longer wakes up with his dying friend's voice echoing in his mind.

He learns to love the feel of a sword in his hand and the bizarre excitement of battle. He makes up training games to play with himself, pushing every day for a little more speed, a little more power. Even with no standard to measure against, he feels himself getting _better_.

And he starts talking to Hyourinmaru (inadvertently, after realizing Hyourinmaru hears his thoughts). He learns for himself what the Academy tried to teach him – that the spirit sharing his mind is not just a soulless weapon, but living and sentient. A companion, to keep the long solitary hours from becoming lonely.

Of course, there are always Hollows.

Fighting Hollows is simple. Not easy, not pleasant, but quick and clean – no empty bodies left over, no blood to mark the site. No words. No disbelieving eyes.

This is not a life Toushiro wanted, nothing he would ever have chosen for himself … but the days stretch on and run together and acquire their own kind of rhythm. Toushiro fights and trains and watches the world flow by and thinks he could like this life, if he tries.

One day the woman finds him. "My, you're such a tiny Soul Reaper," she says. When she looks at him her eyes focus right on his face, instead of staring through him. He has almost forgotten what it feels like to be noticed by someone; all he can do is blink at her, puzzled.

A _wandering spirit_, she calls him.

"I'm not wandering!" he protests.

"Then where are you going, little Reaper?" He thinks she's laughing at him, just a little, behind her calm smile. But it's a kind smile anyway, like his grandmother used to give him, like he hasn't seen since he left home.

He thinks about running away from her, back to his invisible life. A part of him whispers that it's easier to be just a spirit, a shadow, that on his own he has everything he needs. (That's the same part that whispers of frozen blankets, of blood on a cavern floor.)

Maybe he really _is_a wandering spirit, floating through his life with no real thought of anything beyond tomorrow.

He does run – but only to a certain seedy little store, which he's been told next to nothing about, but apparently serves as a kind of safe-house for the Shinigami serving in Karakura Town, to retrieve the nearly-forgotten gigai stashed there. Wearing it makes him feel heavy and awkward, but he figures that a woman who spends her days surrounded by spirits might like to spend time with someone who at least _looks_ like he belongs among the living.

Gigai on, he turns up on her porch unceremoniously.

Toushiro isn't even quite sure he likes her, this woman who speaks so very gently and smiles like she knows something about him.

But he's seen the loneliness showing on her face when she thought he wasn't looking; he doubts the spirits surrounding her isolated little house are very good company. And loneliness is something Toushiro understands all about.

Anyway, wandering is better when you have someplace to circle back to.


	35. Like Thunder Falling into My Hands

**A/N: Tomorrow I'm going on vacation for a week to a place with no Internet and nothing to do but read books and write fic. I expect lots of reviews when I come back. :)**

**Besides posting this I also fixed up the end of Chapter 34. Go check it out, it is better.**

* * *

In the Soul Society, naturally-occurring thunderstorms are very scarce. It rains, of course, enough to keep the vegetation alive, but those are mostly brief, gentle showers that wouldn't even drive a determined farmer indoors. A proper storm with wind and lightning and thunder is a rare and memorable thing.

Toushiro Hitsugaya still vividly remembers his first thunderstorm. It boils up out of nowhere as he is coming home from a trip into the village. He looks up and suddenly the clouds over his head are low and black and raindrops are beating his hair flat almost hostilely.

And he stands still in the middle of the road with water steadily soaking his small body and thunder rumbling in his ears.

Later he will only recall springing into motion and racing the rest of the way home, suddenly full of fear. His mind will edit away that one initial moment, attempting to preserve him from things he will not be prepared to know for many years yet.

Toushiro is afraid because for that one moment, he reaches out unthinkingly as if he can catch the storm itself in his hands and command it. There is a split second when the gesture feels natural, even familiar, instinct responding before his rational mind can kick in. And as the storm whips itself up around him, he feels completely at home.


	36. Never Never

**A/N: I just really wanted to write Gin being super creepy. Other than that there is no point. -_-**

* * *

Secretly, Toushiro dreads passing Captain Ichimaru in the hallways.

Being the newer Captain, Toushiro always steps respectfully aside for him as protocol dictates. Ichimaru rarely says anything to him, but he never fails to tilt his head and look straight at Toushiro for a second (though it's hard to tell, with him squinting like that). And Toushiro is pretty sure Ichimaru has an especially creepy smile reserved just for him.

One day Ichimaru stops in front of him outright, bends forward just enough to make sure Toushiro knows he is, for the moment, trapped.

"I usedta be like you," he purrs. Toushiro tries not to back up. "Got inta the Academy young, got out in a year. Some kinda prodigy they called me, same as you."

Amazing, how he can talk and grin at the same time.

"_Why_ are you telling me this?" Toushiro concentrates on being irritated and does his best to ignore the knot of fear forming in his chest. (Because this is what all those especially creepy smiles have been promising him. Deep down Toushiro is sure of that.)

Amazing, too, how that carved grin manages to be more frightening than any number of Hollows.

"I know how you feel," the older man continues obliviously. "Yer a kid in a world full of adults and they don't bother explainin' how their world works. Like 'cause yer smart you'll understand." His voice has a kind of lazy rhythm that captivates Toushiro against his will. "But'cha don't. Do ya? You watch 'em and you just have _no idea_ what's goin' on. Kills ya, doesn't it, not knowin'. And you think, One day I'll be grown up like them, and then I'll understand."

"Stop it," Toushiro rasps.

"You'll_ never_ understand, li'l captain. 'S what bein' a prodigy does to ya. Ya can't stay a kid … but you'll never grow up, either."

He leaves Toushiro in the center of the hallway, shaking like Ichimaru's threatened his life rather than – whatever he just did. Simply having listened makes Toushiro feel somehow unclean.

_You'll never grow up. You'll never understand. _

He finds he can't form the words to deny it, even to himself.


	37. Cloud Coming Down

**A/N: So, ages upon ages ago I got a request to do a chapter about Toushiro training after the Winter War. Since then there have been many attempts and false starts, but I finally decided I was just gonna write something dammit. It is not the best but it's done, yay. **

**Warnings: Speculation ahoy. Also mega angst. I'm gonna have to write something super fluffy now to make up for all of it ... Boo. **

Toushiro knows he will never forget the way it felt to have Sousuke Aizen cut him out of the sky.

It's not the physical injury he cares about, although he'll carry the scar down his shoulder forever most likely. You can't become a Captain-level Shinigami without learning how to forget about pain.

But he will never forget how it feels to be completely defeated. To be simply _not good enough_.

Toushiro poured all of the strength he had into that last fight, that last strike he remembers only as a cyclone of reiatsu inside him, taking him over.

He lost. He lost spectacularly. Not because of bad luck or circumstance; not because of anything but his own weakness.

And he can _feel_ that weakness, pressing on him from all sides, holding him like an expert kido binding. In his sleep bone-white blades slash at him while he stays frozen helplessly in place and masked Arrancar faces taunt him.

Other faces too, ones he can't picture without feeling something like panic in his chest.

Even with all his power, every last bit, he couldn't win. He couldn't keep any of those promises he made to himself, to destroy, to protect. (They were lofty and impossible anyway and he always knew it, but he's Captain Hitsugaya, his whole life he's been defying expectations so if only he works and believes then _impossible_ becomes something for the rest of the world –)

He _couldn't_.

So every spare minute now he spends training himself. He waits impatiently for chances to slip away to his remote cavern, while the stacks of paper pile higher on his desk and the men under his command begin to murmur among themselves in questioning voices. He trains until his hands bleed, until bright spots flash behind his eyes, until his reiatsu is all but dried up and he is doubled up on the cave floor half-conscious and freezing cold.

He puts himself through all of this because he never again wants to feel not good enough.

But now he feels that way every day.


	38. With You

**Tolkien'sInkwell's ideas: *fly away* Inky: *cries* NUUU COME BAAAACK! **

**Because everyone knows the last month of summer is reserved for whining ... eheh. Anyway ... oh bizarre Hitsu/Hyou fic, how I've missed you ... even if no one else does ... *goes off to write something that actually makes sense***

* * *

Toushiro is a newly-minted Shinigami, still intrigued with his solemn black uniform and its accompanying aura of maturity. His inner world is long-since familiar to him, but he looks at it now with a little more understanding.

A tendril of cold air slides around Toushiro's body, seeming to hold him for a second before whispering away. Toushiro recognizes the faint tinge of reiatsu in it. Wind is never simply wind here. This world belongs to Hyourinmaru; he is the master of everything in it.

The ice dragon himself lets him be and flies lazy circles above his head.

Toushiro presses his hands absently against the hard ground and a thought slides into his mind. It is a thought he has had many times before and one that surprises him each time nonetheless.

_I think I died here._

Sometimes he wonders if what he really means is _I think I _will_ die here._ He used to worry about that, about dying on an empty plain where no one else could ever find him. Now he thinks there are far worse places to spend his last hour than here, in silence with the cold wind embracing him 'til the very end.

He knows a part of him is dead and gone already, and has been since the day he first put on an Academy uniform. Maybe he will keep on dying, then, piece by piece, until one day he finds himself vanished and a stranger risen to take his place.

Toushiro glances up as the dragon's shadow falls over him, its owner barely making a sound as he lands. Out of the corner of his eye Toushiro sees his long neck curve down until his head is almost resting on Toushiro's shoulder. There is such a degree of odd devotion in his posture that Toushiro prefers not to think too hard about it. Instead, he reflects to himself that Hyourinmaru has gotten quieter and gentler lately. He grew up, Toushiro supposes. _He grew up when I did._

Toushiro automatically leans closer to him.

Once Toushiro vowed that he would never come back here again (though he broke that promise the very same night). This is a cold, dangerous place, he decided, a place for destruction. It's strange and empty and it does not belong to him.

Only … it does, and always has. The plain of ice feels like his as much as his zanpakuto's. _Theirs_, the same way the house in Rukongai used to be his and Granny's and Momo's.

"Why … does this feel like home?"

The question slips out abruptly and awkwardly, and it is not precisely the question Toushiro intended to ask.

Hyourinmaru answers anyway. "I want you to have one."

And briefly Toushiro remembers being a lost, angry child not so long ago, hating the zanpakuto he believed capable only of taking things away from him.

"Thanks," is all he says aloud, though.

Someday, Toushiro promises himself, he'll find a place for himself in the world outside again. Somewhere he can bring people to visit if they ask him. A place he can call his own and come home to at night without having to fold inward into his mind.

But even if he finds one, even if he lives there a thousand years, Toushiro knows for certain where his first home will always be.


	39. Interlude

**A/N: The Little Captain is one year old, everyone! I'm not sure how I feel about the ability to write a whole year's world of drabbles about two characters. If you are still reading at this point, you deserve points for determination, at least. I really appreciate it.**

**There is a real chapter coming right after this. Promise. **

* * *

In a corner of Squad Ten's Captains' quarters knelt two figures, heads bent over the small glowing screen of one of Seiretei's new iSoulPhones (with full Living World Internet capabilities!).

"Please can we freeze her _now_?" Toushiro begged his materialized zanpakuto. "I think she passed 'out of hand' about twenty chapters ago."

"I don't think these are _too_ bad," Hyourinmaru said, reading through the chapter list again.

Toushiro hit him with the iSoulPhone. "You would say that, traitor. She never _does_ anything to _you_ except give you amnesia, and that happened anyway. _I'm_ the one she tortures all the time!"

"She hasn't killed you off yet, has she?"

"Hello? Remember 'Last Anthem of the Heavens'?"

"Well, she killed me too. See? She does stuff to me!"

"In that case, why aren't you agreeing with me?"

"It could be worse. She hasn't … _paired_ you with anyone yet."

Toushiro looked confused. "That wouldn't be too bad. I mean, it'd have to be Momo or Rangiku, right? I could handle that."

Hyourinmaru paused to debate whether he _really_ wanted to shatter his master's fragile innocence.

"What is _that_ look for? It's scaring me a little …"

"You must be made to understand," Hyourinmaru murmured half to himself. Then he leaned over and whispered the list of names in Toushiro's ear. He spoke of nightmares, thunderstorms, strandings in the Living World, dungeons in Hueco Mundo, and many more dark things that do not bear repeating.

Then he grabbed the back of Toushiro's haori, to keep him from falling over in shock.

"She … she wouldn't –" the traumatized young Captain gasped.

"Who knows?" a clear female voice suddenly rang through the room. "I am but a slave to the desires of my readers."

The pair gazed up in horror at the young woman gliding through the air towards them. She had sparkling eyes, a lovely, tender smile, and an aura of pure fangirlish evil. Behind her floated her fell servant, the Laptop.

"I don't believe it," Toushiro piped up defiantly. "Even you aren't capable of writing something that disturbing."

The Author turned to her Laptop and started typing exaggeratedly. "And _then_, Captain Ichimaru walked into the dungeon where Toushiro was chained helplessly to the wall …"

Toushiro whimpered in a very un-Captain-like way.

"No, you're right. Ew." The Author smiled reassuringly. Somehow, the thought that she was unwilling to write kinky Gin/Hitsugaya fic was not all that reassuring. "Besides, I have plenty of other ideas, Shiro, darling," she continued happily, scooping Toushiro up like she does her pet cat at home. Hyourinmaru, bound by undying loyalty to his master, could only follow the retreating Author.

"You were right," she announced to him. "I've done barely anything to you, haven't I? Guess I'll have to work on that." She tugged on his hair, trying to find out how it stays so perfectly in place _all the time_.

And so the Author escaped the wrath of her chosen fictional victims and lived to write another day. Here's to forty more chapters … okay, maybe not. Let's aim for chapter fifty and then see what happens.


	40. Harder on the Ones Who Have to Watch

**A/N: So you know I follow the Bleach manga as well as the English anime but YOU GUYS I AM SO BEHIND! I can't find new chapters anymore, I hear Toushiro is back again and I'm not reading about it, wahh!**

**As for this particular chapter's worth of foraying into madness, I had the sudden urge to write lightheartedly about other people's emotional trauma. Therefore I use Rangiku. It's not supposed to make sense, it's just vaguely therapeutic. Shut up, I have the most boring homework ever this year.**

* * *

Until the knock on her door, Rangiku Matsumoto was having a pleasant night flipping through her new hoard of Living-World style magazines (while quietly cursing the long-ago inventor of the black shihakusho).

Rangiku slid her door open cautiously, having no real idea who to expect. Haineko, maybe, not that she would actually knock. Her Captain was asleep, as far as she knew, and any of her subordinates would approach her private quarters only in an emergency.

Instead of any of these options it turned out to be Hyourinmaru on the other side. Rangiku couldn't stop herself jumping back and yelping a little before asking, "Ah, do you need something?" For whatever reasons Hyourinmaru seemed to like her, but still, _not_ on the list of people she was comfortable meeting on the other side of a door after dark.

"Toushiro is sick."

"I know…" That evening Toushiro had dragged himself out of the office early (by his standards), leaving a stack of undone work on his desk. He'd looked so pathetic that Rangiku had felt bad for him and stayed late, for once, to finish a good bit of it.

Rangiku realized Hyourinmaru was still watching her expectantly.

"…And you don't know how to take care of him," she filled in.

Nod.

"I guess I could go back with you."

The Captain's quarters were cold enough for their occupants' breath to condense in front of their faces. Right away Rangiku saw that Toushiro looked quite a lot worse than he had that afternoon. The young Shinigami was huddled under his blanket in a feverish sleep, face flushed and breathing too fast and shallow to possibly be healthy.

Unfortunately, what Hyourinmaru had failed to take into account when asking for her help was that Rangiku knew about as much as he did about taking care of sick children – that is to say, virtually nothing.

Shinigami and zanpakuto knelt quietly down beside the futon. Rangiku touched her Captain's face and found his skin hot under her fingers, not to mention that he was far enough out of it to be losing control over his reiatsu.

"Should he go to Squad Four?" Hyourinmaru asked her.

"I don't want to wake him up to get him there."

"You will not have to." With those words Hyourinmaru leaned forward and easily scooped Toushiro into his arms.

Rangiku didn't bother hiding her surprised look. "I can't believe he lets you _do_ that."

"Only when unconscious."

_Learn from my mistakes, females of Seiretei_, Rangiku found herself thinking. _Carry a camera _wherever_ you go, including to bed._ Not that she would try to profit off of pictures of her unwell Captain being cradled by his sword spirit … but even if only for her own personal gratification, moments this adorable deserved to be recorded.

As they stood and began to exit the room, Toushiro stirred and half-opened his eyes, although judging by their glassy quality it would have been inaccurate to call him "awake." He muttered something Rangiku couldn't hear, but whatever it was made Hyourinmaru's eyes flick instantly down to his master's face.

This time when Toushiro spoke Rangiku was close enough to hear him.

"_Remember … me? Please…_"

Rangiku realized then that Toushiro was feverish enough to be flashing back to the rebellion and the last time his zanpakuto had carried him anywhere. The story of their unique battle and how Hyourinmaru had carried him to the infirmary afterwards was fast becoming a cult legend in Seiretei (or at least in the Shinigami Women's Association). Rangiku could admit that she had not exactly refrained from repeating the story she'd gotten from Ichigo Kurosaki, but actually it was Momo who was responsible for most of the speculations now embellishing the original story. No one seemed to realize it but that girl had one wild imagination on her.

Hyourinmaru drew his master's body closer, almost convulsively. (Rangiku hoped he was being careful because those ice fingers definitely looked capable of piercing skin.)

"Of course," he whispered, head bent. "Of course I do, Toushiro."

Rangiku's mind decided that it would be safest to vehemently deny that she heard his voice break.


	41. Puns Are Lazy Writing

**A/N: This past week my laptop had computer surgery and while it was out of commission I had such bad fanfic withdrawal! So now I'm like, Must ... write ... must ... post ... and the stupid-ness filters in my brain are turned off even more than usual. Also, when I got my files off my backup hard drive I found that my Little Captain file somehow got saved as an earlier version, meaning I lost a whole chapter I was working on! It wasn't my best but it was _gonna_ be awesome! I guess I'll rewrite it one day.**

**In preparation for this chapter, let me explain something about myself: Last semester I took a class in which we spent half the semester doing nothing but analyzing fairytales. Then we spent the other half analyzing mythology. Conclusion: I love to analyze the holy snot out of things. **

* * *

The first time Toushiro visits Haru wearing his white haori, he doesn't tell her what it means.

She knows he is a seated officer – she's seen him fight and knows enough about Shinigami to tell how strong he is.

But she doesn't know _that_ much about Shinigami. Not enough to recognize a Captain's coat when she sees one.

Haru doesn't press him about it. Maybe she can tell he doesn't want to talk; maybe she simply doesn't care.

In fact it's a little startling, even to him, how extraordinarily little Haru actually knows about him. She knows he is remarkably smart and strong for his age and that it's rare for anyone as young as he is to hold a Seat or go on active duty. As for his actual history and circumstances, he has given her only the most watered-down version. He keeps expecting questions from her, but they never come.

Sometimes he wonders just who she sees when she looks at him, who it is who deserves her indulgent and unstintingly kind smile.

Certainly it's no one who's hurt his family or his friends or lived a soldier's bloody life like Toushiro has.

That's what he likes about Haru, though. She doesn't pry.

And that's what he hates about her, too. She's looking at him with blinders on, filtering out everything about him she doesn't want to see. If, next time she calls him "child" or "little Reaper," he were to stand up and announce, "I am _not_ a child, I'm over fifty and I'm a squad captain!" she would just nod and smile the way she always does (the way that makes Toushiro want to simultaneously hug and throttle her – the way that makes you think she knows everything after all and is patiently watching you delude yourself).

She wants a sweet little companion, so somehow he became a sweet little companion for her and he knows that one day (soon, probably) he won't be able to do it anymore.

And in that case, he might as well take this one last chance to _be_ a child, ordinary and with nothing expected of him.

Besides, protesting like that would mean having to admit that he has started to enjoy being a Captain, just a little bit.


	42. Have You Been Dreaming

**A/N: This is the first thing I wrote after I got my laptop back and was feeling like _Must ... write ... anything ..._ That is probably why it's so dysfunctional even after editing. It's been ages since I thought about our friend Soujiro (why didn't they switch to his first name when they dubbed the movie)? I'm kinda surprised to like writing him so much.**

* * *

As soon as he opens his eyes on the dusty, sunlight corridor of Soul Reaper Academy, Toushiro understands what is going on. He's having a dream, and it's going to be a bad dream because whatever twisted glutton-for-punishment part of his mind controls his sleep cycles never bothers to give him good dreams these days. He starts walking with no particular attention to his destination, knowing whatever his mind thinks should happen to him will happen no matter what he does.

He expects something to jump out and attack him, or someone to call for him; he doesn't expect to end up standing in front of a plain door and realizing he's traced his steps back to his old dormitory room. Next to the door hangs a placard with neat kanji spelling out two names. Toushiro feels a twisting in his chest of half sadness and half fear; last time he opened this door he was excited, hopeful, not all the child in him beaten out yet. Last time, the owner of the second name on the door was still alive.

With a suddenly racing heart, he cracks the door inward.

"…Kusaka? Are you in here?"

"You are unbelievable, Toushiro." The door is abruptly pulled the rest of the way open by one happy-looking and very much alive Soujiro Kusaka. "Even after you kill me I can't get you to call me Soujiro."

"You – you think I killed you?"

Kusaka's mouth quirks into its ever-ready smile. "What d'_you_ think you did?"

"I never – I didn't want them to – I didn't want you to _die_!"

The other boy takes a few restless steps, sending his long bangs swinging across his face. "What'd you _expect_ would happen? That Central 46 would pat me on the head and say, Guess that one was a dud, sorry, try again?"

Mutely, Toushiro shakes his head, although in denial of more than just his friend's question.

"_Listen_ to me, Hitsugaya, do you think we're the first students who ever got made to fight each other? It sucks but it just happens that way. It's just like a contest, everyone knows that,and when you win you don't waste time crying over the loser, you grab your sword and run like hell to find a squad assignment and nobody blames you for doing it!"

"But I –"

"_What_?" Kusaka snaps in the voice of someone fed up with explaining things to someone younger and more naïve.

"I don't want to live in a world that works like that!" Toushiro bursts out.

"Fine. Then you'll have to turn your uniform in and hand over Hyourinmaru to me," says Kusaka flatly. He holds out his hand as if actually expecting Toushiro to comply.

"Dammit, Kusaka, that's _not_ fair –" Toushiro curses his friend for saying the one thing guaranteed to make him instantly reject an offer like that.

But Kusaka just smiles his wide, infuriating grin, the one that means _I'm right about something! _And as abruptly as he let Toushiro in, he turns to leave the room. "I'll see you, Toushiro. I'm late to go die," he says as casually as he might once have stood in this doorway and announced he was late to class or to dinner. And –

"Hey!" The hand Toushiro stretches out only hits the closed door.

Toushiro sits up, alone and in his own bed, blinks tiredly and finds tears clinging to his eyelashes. He leans forward and slides his hands over his face, distress quickly morphing into a dull, exhausted irritation with himself.

So many years between him and those days, and the memory can still unbalance him like it happened last week.

He remembers that being around Kusaka was always unsettling even back when Kusaka was alive. Even when he was trying to be kind he seemed somehow on edge, always restless, making you wonder what was _really_ going on in his head, because you just _knew_ there was something you were missing.

_ What did you expect, Toushiro? Why would Dream Kusaka be any gentler than the real one was?_

Toushiro believes in the existence of what the humans might refer to as "visitations from the beyond." He kind of has to, considering that every time he crosses the precipice world, he becomes one. That stuff happens all the time, in the living world – but the people that die in Soul Society are gone for good, their souls dissolved back into the cycles of reincarnation; none of them can come back for casual visits. Toushiro's dreams are just his masochist imagination and near-perfect, child-prodigy memory messing with his mind.

On the other hand, Toushiro's child-prodigy memory has never failed him before, and if the Soujiro Kusaka he remembers _did_ visit him in his dreams, he'd say the same things.

Knowing that, though, doesn't exactly make him feel better.

He just lies back and tries to fall asleep again. His first reaction is to visit his inner world, where the turmoil of his dreams never seems able to reach him. But he can't, not for this, possibly the one subject that bothers Hyourinmaru more than it does him.

Instead he concentrates on reciting kido incantations in his head – a habit retained from his days at the Academy (come exam time, every student could be found frantically memorizing the long strings of words any way he or she could, and pretty soon Toushiro discovered he could use them to shut his over-active mind off).

After a while his mind has the courtesy to obey him, and if it sends him any more dreams, at least this time it doesn't make him remember them.


	43. You I Keep

**A/N: Long wait is long I'm sorry I'm sorry. In other news, it snowed today. I don't know if that is normal for you but it is really not normal here. And yes, the first thing I thought of was Okay, who pissed Captain Hitsugaya off? ;)**

* * *

Lieutenant Matsumoto is organizing papers. Not because she _wants_ to, of course. Because Captain Hitsugaya cornered her and threatened frozen wrath if she didn't actually get some work done. He then retreated to his desk to glare at her in between tackling his own workload and left her to deal with this pile of miscellaneous, boring paperwork.

After a while Rangiku realizes she no longer hears scratching and shuffling papers from Toushiro's side of the room and looks over to find him in the same spot, but now fast asleep. Good, Rangiku decides – her little captain always looks tired these days.

Plus which, now she can use "I didn't want to disturb you, Captain!" as an excuse to get out of the office early. Maybe. Theoretically.

_That __can__'__t __be __comfortable __though_, she thinks, looking at him slumped over the wooden surface, his head rested on awkwardly folded arms. _Was __he __really __so __tired __he __couldn__'__t __get __up __and __walk __over __to __sleep __on __the __couch?_ Rangiku considers trying to move him, but if she wakes him she knows he'll be in a vile mood ... and however much she may have fantasized about it in idle moments, he's too big for her to pick up and carry (not to mention the world of frozen wrath she'll incur if he catches her trying).

The sight reminds Rangiku of a night not so long ago, when she'd followed someone's uncontrolled, icy reiatsu to a little house in the backwoods of Rukongai – the second time she met Toushiro, the first time she got a good, close-up look at him. He'd been asleep then, too, lost in the throes of a sword-dream, rapid breaths condensing around his face.

Lately there's been a tiny voice deep in Rangiku's mind, asking, _Did __I _have _to__ …__?_ Sure, the situation she recalls now left her no choice, but the passage of time has started to blur the memory at the edges and she just can't silence the voice that keeps wondering if, had she let him be that night, Toushiro could have had a proper childhood and come to Seiretei in his own time.

Toushiro stirs, his sleeves whispering against the paper strewn across the desk. A soft sound escapes him, his eyebrows draw together and Rangiku suddenly notices just how unhappy he looks. Not irritated (his virtually-constant mood when awake), either. Sad, Rangiku decides. Uncertain. Painfully young. If this were anyone else, Rangiku would have said he looks about ready to cry.

(She won't, though, because you don't say things like that about your commanding officer.)

The same part of Rangiku's mind responsible for that tiny wondering voice now tells her to find a blanket to wrap him in, to stroke his hair and whisper something calming in his ear. She almost does it, too. Her hand is hovering right over his head before the rest of her mind catches up – it pictures what would happen if Toushiro wakes up to see her hovering over him. Toushiro, who above all else hates to be weak, to be vulnerable – or more accurately, to be _seen_ that way. He'd sit up straight all in a rush, eyes wide with what seems to be equal parts anger and fear. The expression would last for only a second, but it would be raw and vivid.

And despite all the ways she normally tries to make Toushiro lose his cool, Rangiku discovers she really doesn't want to make her Captain look at her like that.

(Just another one of the things you don't do to your commanding officer.)

So, though to do it makes her feel like she's failed in some obscure, but important way, Rangiku pulls her hand back and only picks up Toushiro's partially-full teacup, tugs the papers he's fallen asleep on out from under his arms and arranges them in a stack. She can at least make sure none of his hard work gets messed up.

After another glance at the weary young face before her, Rangiku's hands slowly close around a sheaf of documents missing the seal proclaiming they can be signed by a squad Captain only. It hasn't even been touched yet; it's still in the thick envelope it was delivered in.

Rangiku hates paperwork because she's honestly bad at it. Her mind just doesn't seem to be wired for that kind of hard, steady focus. There are very few things in the world capable of guilting Rangiku into doing paperwork unless required to do so by the most extreme, urgent circumstances.

One of those very few things is the sight of the boy she dragged out of Rukongai, his guard let down to reveal himself as truly worn out, and the knowledge that this is _all_ she can do for him.


	44. Bring Me a Letter

**A/N: I wasn't at all sure whether I should even post this one. I'm still not sure about the premise; does Soul Society even have a postal service, somehow I think not. But since school's been really busy and I feel bad that I haven't been posting much you get to have this anyway.**

**Yah, so I don't like Momo very much at all. Usually I just avoid writing about her.**

On a bleak autumn day, Momo's first letter arrives from Soul Reaper Academy.

It's addressed in her neatest handwriting and divided into two separate sheets, one each

for Toushiro and for their grandmother. Toushiro leaves her sheet where she'll be sure to see it.

His own letter, he surprises himself by leaving unopened. Instead he retreats to the porch and sits idly swinging the paper from his fingertips.

_"__I__'__ll __write __you __every __week,__ '__kay? __At __least! __You__'__ll __probably __get __really __sick __of __hearing __from __me!__"_

Holding the fragile paper slip that is supposed to make up for four or five years (at least) of loneliness, picturing smiling, sparkling Momo waving back at him, he wishes he could throw his voice across these past weeks to that moment and tell her – it doesn't matter how often she writes to him. He doesn't give a damn about her letters.

After all, her letters can't divide up the work of managing a home which now falls largely to him, worrying as he's begun to about their tiny old grandmother's health.

They can't tell off the village kids who cross the paths away from him and slide him obviously hostile glances now without Momo, his friendly, _normal_ big sister, to intercede for him.

Toushiro rips her first letter in half.

Only once, though, one fast, clean tear, so he can piece it back together later.


	45. Fingers

**A/N: Iiiiit lives. And it's about time for a little weird AU action.**

* * *

The boy's hands are too small for a full-sized katana. Ten slender fingers grip its long hilt, splayed uncomfortably across the wrapped metal and pressed down too hard as they struggle to balance the unfamiliar weight.

With each swing his grip stays rigid, unwilling to let the blade move on its own – unwilling to trust his weapon or his own ability. His fingers are always shifting, readjusting; often they clench and shiver with the fear of any misstep.

A sword knows its wielder first and foremost by his fingers, and this sword's wielder is too young, too uncertain and immature.

But on the sword's hilt are already ten phantom imprints where ten slender fingers wrap themselves in a motion that is smoother and steadier every day.

And this is a forgiving sword and a patient one, one that wants to help its wielder, not challenge him. So the sword stays light and balanced in the boy's hands, knowing that with time small fingers will grow longer and a child can grow into a warrior.


	46. The Measure of a Year

**A/N: So, I am way too ridiculously excited about the zanpakuto arc being dubbed...excuse to watch my favorite eps again...yah. Also I think the manga right now is getting _super weird_.**

**This is basically my summary of the time-skip. But it all comes out of my twisted little head so there are only very vague spoilers for the current arc. **

* * *

Toushiro wakes up screaming. It takes a kido from Captain Unohana herself to hold him down long enough to sedate him again.

* * *

Under cover of darkness, he steals out of Squad Four, after finding his zanpakuto stashed away under his hospital bed.

The next night he staggers back, his shoulder wound torn open again.

* * *

The training regime he begins is almost cruel in nature. He trains not to learn any new technique, but purely as a feat of endurance – how long he can hold bankai after his "timer" vanishes, how much reiatsu he can throw out as waves of ice before he drops to the ground in an exhausted daze.

It hurts him and he thinks it hurts his zanpakuto spirit too. But pain, he tells himself, is the only path to strength.

(And the fact that he still feels no stronger means only that he has not suffered enough.)

* * *

Even in training, he barely talks to Hyourinmaru anymore. He's afraid of what he might say if he tries.

Hyourinmaru doesn't try to talk to him either, and that suits Toushiro just fine. What Hyourinmaru would say to him is nothing Toushiro wants to hear.

* * *

Finally Hyourinmaru snaps and refuses to answer his master's call, saying he can no longer let Toushiro slowly kill them both this way.

So, as all disagreeing Shinigami and zanpakuto do, they fight – or rather, Toushiro attacks and Hyourinmaru lets him.

And Toushiro breaks his persistent silence and admits to being afraid and guilty and ashamed, to punishing himself since no one else has. He screams at Hyourinmaru, who made him into a soldier (into a killer), who knows all his flaws and dares to love him anyway – voices thoughts he will later deny ever having, until finally he breaks down crying and can't say anything else.

Hyourinmaru doesn't say anything except _Toushiro,__child__…_ and holds onto him until he calms down.

(It takes a long time.)

* * *

"Here. It's for you." He holds out the branch of plum blossoms (_not_ stolen from Kuchiki manor grounds because the branch was totally hanging over the street and everyone knows that makes it public property). "I know what a horribly bad pun it is, but still, you used to get all excited about them every spring. Look, I brought you the first ones I saw this year."

Her arm stretches out by degrees, thin white fingers trembling.

He tries not to look back as he crosses the threshold. He tries, but he looks anyway.

She is curled at the head of the bed, uncut hair hanging raggedly over her face, cradling the plum blossoms in her hands and slowly pulling the pale petals apart, as single-mindedly engrossed as a child.

* * *

He realizes what bad shape he must really be in the day he finds the stack of forms completed in Rangiku's handwriting.

Either she is worried about him or he needs to be worried about her, and either one is unacceptable.

* * *

All of a sudden Captain Ukitake is greeting him just a little more solemnly in the hallways and invites him to tea instead of giving him candy.

Soon, Toushiro thinks, he might even accept.

* * *

The sash that holds his sword in place gets slashed to pieces (along with his uniform … and his body…) by a huge, ugly Hollow. Eventually he replaces it with a thin silver chain – it's sturdier and (so he is told) more elegant.

He knows how stupid it is to miss a length of silk, but for months afterward he feels the new chain dragging on his shoulder, like a reminder of everything else he's lost this year.

* * *

"You look older," Rangiku says. She says it sadly, _older_ in her mind equating to _harder, __sadder_.

Even so, _older_ in Toushiro's mind means something quite different, and he smiles.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, he realizes, his hair has surrendered to his years-long efforts to make it behave. Suddenly it no longer requires the same amount of gel and painful combing for him to be fit to go out in public.

_Thank __Heaven __for __small __victories_, he thinks wryly, and leaves his quarters that morning with a lighter than usual heart.

* * *

The Head Captain calls all of Seiretei's officers together. He says that Ichigo Kurosaki has gotten himself into danger again and invokes a certain set of secret orders from before Toushiro's time.

Standing at the door to the town he would be happy never to see again, Toushiro thinks, this is how it must be: Seiretei will tear him up over and over again, until he is nothing but tatters.


	47. Every Now and Then Life Begins Again

**A/N: Darn you, Shiro-chan, having your birthday right after exams. **

**Sorry it's so disjointed and weird. But praise me anyway, for I have made a deadline and that is a big deal for me...eheh, sweatdrop.**

* * *

Toushiro's birthday isn't actually the day he was born.

(Since we are talking about the afterlife here, it's not the day he died, either.)

That's just how it goes for the kids of Rukongai. Those with no family to remember the date (which is most of them) have to choose some other memorable event to measure their age from.

So, Toushiro's birthday is the day Momo Hinamori found him by the roadside, the day he met the people he calls his family.

Last year on this day Toushiro stood on the roof of his division headquarters and watched fireworks with the people he might hazard to call his family now, if anyone asked.

Momo, lively and shining instead of clinging to life by no more than a spider-silk thread.

Rangiku, with no perpetual somber cloud over her eyes.

And with _him_. With _that __man_ who _dared_ to set foot on Toushiro's rooftop and smile at him with perfect calm….At that very moment, as_he_ smiled so serenely, was _he_ thinking about how he would kill the girl looking at him with such pure adoration, destroy the boy who admired him for his air of quiet dignity?

And Toushiro let his guard down and explained to _him_ that no one in Rukongai knows their true birthday, and _he_ nodded and spoke kind words that must've ached in _his_ mouth like too-sweet taffy.

Remembering that _he_ now holds a piece (however small) of Toushiro's private heart makes Toushiro feel positively violated.

A by-now-familiar sensation claws its way up Toushiro's throat – a desire to run and scream and blast apart whatever ends up in his way until his vision goes black.

He screws his eyes shut, re-opens them onto the clear night sky. No fireworks this year, though he is up on the roof again, sitting in nearly the same spot. Seems he's not the only one not interested in celebrating. He's theorized that now that the initial high of having won the War and not being wiped out of existence has worn off, everyone is now hung up on the fact that they very nearly _lost_ the War.

Last year he stood here watching the fireworks color the sky and worried that he and Momo wouldn't ever talk like they used to; that Rangiku would give up on paperwork altogether; what monstrosity Ukitake would spring on him next.

(Pretty much the same things he'd worried about every year – every day – since becoming Captain.)

This year the sky is dark and still, and Toushiro is all alone – but that is a luxury in itself, to let the winter air sweep his mind clean for a little while and leave it to wander…

_"__It__'__s __your __birthday, __Shiro-chan,__so __make __a __wish!__"_

_ "Huh? Get outta my face, Momo. Why should I do that?"_

_ "'Cause it's a special day, it's the day your life changed! So, if you make a wish today, maybe your life will change again."_

_ "Why would I want my life to change, idiot?"_

(How long has it been since he could ask _that_ with any degree of honesty?)

Even as a child Toushiro didn't have that kind of faith in wishes and miracles.

But if there was ever a day Toushiro's life needed supernatural intervention, it's today.

So, imagine he _does_ have one wish to send up to the arbiters of the Universe, one request to be fulfilled without worrying over questions of time and space and hard reality.

He first considers asking to have time rolled back, to a day when Rukia Kuchiki was just Captain Kuchiki's little sister, and Tousen and Ichimaru and Aizen were just Captains, and Toushiro had never known the meaning of true desperation or helplessness.

He'd give anything to have back the things which've since been destroyed.

_But __that __world __was __never __real. __It __was __made __of _his _lies_, the know-it-all-child-genius part of Toushiro's mind pipes up, _and __you __couldn__'__t __make __yourself __live __in __a __false __world __like __that __again._

_But __that __doesn__'__t __mean __I __have __to __live __in _this _messed-up __one __forever._Toushiro is not a great optimist, especially not lately, but the quiet voice of optimism in there still makes itself heard when required.

So he'd use his one theoretical wish for a future world with no agonizing nighttime hospital visits and no hollow brown eyes to haunt his dreams; a world that, if not undamaged, is at least mended smoothly.

For once he doesn't immediately bow his head with heartache at the impossibility of the things he asks for. He just keeps on gazing into the sky, not smiling, but not frowning in pain or worry, either. What he feels is no happy or hopeful, per se. Only weirdly hollow, like he's been scoured clean and left to fill the empty space however he chooses. (Vague phrases flit through his mind about cleansing and trial-by-fire.) It is not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

And, for the first time in many years, he feels older.

That has to count for something.


	48. The Ice Inside Your Soul

**A/N: I was looking over the last few chapters and reviews, and realized that it is in fact _not_ my intention (despite all evidence otherwise) to depress my readers into oblivion. :) Therefore I wrote you fluff instead even though it's super weird cuz I am out of practice. Yah, it was supposed to come out quite a bit sooner than this. I got distracted...**

* * *

It's been years and years since Toushiro was in the Living World during the season of winter.

The Soul Society has no proper seasons. The temperature rises in summer and drops in winter, leaves crinkle up and fall, flowers bloom in their proper cycles, but the weather stays in a relatively constant pattern, season after season. Storms and extreme temperatures are only ever caused by element-wielders like Toushiro and the Head Captain.

So it wasn't until his first extended mission in the Living World that Toushiro saw his first real snowstorm. Not that Toushiro is any stranger to snow – it snows in his inner world every time he or his zanpakuto spirit gets upset. But until that winter he'd never seen a sky so full of thick white crystals he could barely see anything past them, falling in silence to muffle every sound and mute every edge they touched, at once peaceful and relentless.

The Shinigami still count the months as the living do. It's December now, and December makes Toushiro kind of wish he'd never gone on that long-ago mission at all.

Unable to summon his normally considerable powers of concentration, he stares out the office window and really, _really_ wishes it would snow here.

Toushiro, having the zanpakuto he has, is capable of _making_ it snow if he wants to, at least in a small area. But aside from all the restrictions in Seiretei, Toushiro has too much respect for his powers to use them like that, for personal gratification.

Besides, the only snow he is capable of creating is the kind that turns to deadly ice.

_Come in here_, the voice of Hyourinmaru echoes in his mind, accompanied by the mental tug that means the spirit is inviting Toushiro into his world.

It surprises Toushiro a little, but he shuts his eyes obediently. It's not like he's getting anything accomplished out here, after all.

The world on the other side is a white one. The air is full of snowflakes falling lazily, the ground already covered several inches thick. There is no hint of wind, only the steady stream of pale, feathery flakes. The fallen snow has softened out the bleak landscape of rocks and random ice formations. Maybe Toushiro just has a weird sense of aesthetics, but right now this might be the most beautiful place he's ever seen.

"I wish I could bring paperwork or books in here," he says absently, "I might never leave."

"And there is a good reason you can't. You live out there, not here." Hyourinmaru appears behind him, looking a good deal less forbidding than usual with a faint smile on his face and snowflakes sticking in his hair.

"Hey, you're the one who called me in here and made it look all nice, so it's your own fault." As Toushiro answers back he is abruptly drowned in the knowledge that this is the reason he never truly regrets giving up his childhood to the Soul Society; of just how tightly the two of them are bound together, through any trial, forever (and that doesn't even sound dramatic or mystical, just – nice)…. He doesn't often think about the more philosophical side of having a zanpakuto, and when he does it's always overwhelming.

He almost gives in to the sudden urge to run and hug his zanpakuto (it's not like Hyourinmaru wouldn't let him), before his Dignity steps in and hastily drags him back.

"Is this not a time when you people give each other things?"

"Something like that." And … screw dignity; Toushiro crosses the space between them and wraps both arms around the tall spirit's waist. His kimono is faintly damp and smells of sharp, cold air. After a second his hand brushes across Toushiro's hair, then settles tightly around his shoulders.

Toushiro notices the spirit's eyes stray up toward the obscured sky, looking faintly confused, as though he is unsure of what he has created. "I do not think I entirely understand your fascination with this." He sounds a little sad.

Toushiro thinks he knows what Hyourinmaru means. Hyourinmaru always seems so calm and quiet, but neither of them will ever forget that underneath he is a wild creature, more at home surrounded by wind and ice and ruin than anywhere else. And Toushiro suffered for it, way back when. Maybe there is a gap between them, two beings so very different, that no amount of time and effort can bridge.

But surely Hyourinmaru realizes that Toushiro _knows_ all of that and doesn't _care_, stopped being resentful or frightened a long time ago. As for the impassable gap, well, Toushiro is here, isn't he, as close as he can get.

(And, not for the first time, he wishes he'd hurry and grow up so he can look Hyourinmaru straight in the eyes and tell him so and _make_ him believe it.)

Toushiro debates briefly with himself over how to respond. In the end he settles on, "Don't worry about it, okay?"

After that there is only gentle silence and two figures who wouldn't mind if the walls of shifting white buried them together.

Later on, the residents of Squad Ten will all notice that the tense lines ever-present around their Captain's eyes and mouth have softened, until it seems like he is actually considering smiling.

In the deep recesses of the aforementioned Captain's heart, the snow will continue to fall for a long time until it peters out, as all ideal snowstorms do. The sky will clear and a fat, contented disc of moon will beam down between the leftover wisps of cloud.


	49. Revelations After Midnight

**A/N: OMIGOD LONG. By drabble-series standards, anyway. I almost posted it separately, but I've kept longer ones in here, though. This was written in two sittings with literally a months-long gap between, so if you notice a sudden violent change in tone/style well that's probably why.**

* * *

It is one minute past midnight, and officially the end of Week One of the Captaincy of Toushiro Hitsugaya.

The aforementioned Toushiro Hitsugaya shifts position in his chair once again. "Comfortable" is a state for which he lost the battle several hours ago, but he can at least try to prevent his legs going numb from sitting still longer than he has since maybe the Academy. It doesn't really help that the content of the papers on his desk is making him wish for a nice long essay on soul-burial theory instead. It also doesn't help that both chair and desk were designed for a person of the fully-grown variety, and _no way in Huecomundo_ is Toushiro ever asking to have them modified.

_Bored_, says a voice which comes from inside Toushiro's mind, but which does not actually belong to Toushiro himself.

_Shut up_, Toushiro thinks back.

_SO BORED_, the voice repeats itself, a good deal louder and more pointedly.

_Shut _up_ Hyourinmaru._ With that Toushiro returns resolutely to his stack of paper. But now that the ice dragon has made his presence apparent, Toushiro is suddenly acutely aware of him, pressing on the back of his mind. Floating over his endless plain of ice, all alone with only the fabricated moon for company … surrounded by open ground and the faintest hint of cold wind, permanently untouched by anything even remotely resembling a piece of paper …

The newly-minted Captain sinks lower in his seat and bites down on the end of his writing brush. (It tastes sort of awful, and doesn't make him feel any better.) "You could help me focus on this instead," he mumbles around it. He is really too tired to care about the numerous past lectures on how you don't have to, and indeed are not _supposed_ to respond to your zanpakuto out loud.

_What _is_ it?_ asks Hyourinmaru after a moment of silence. (He's not actually looking over Toushiro's shoulder, obviously, but that's what it feels like.)

_It's a … budget … thing_, Toushiro tries to explain, realizing with mild horror that he's been filling in this form for the past five minutes without knowing what it is. _Essentially I have to record how much division property we destroy each month. And most of it isn't even us, it's just spillover from Squad 11's "training." _Mental grimace and eye-roll.

_And you have been doing this … for a solid week. _

Toushiro realizes it was pointless to try to explain the finer points of bureaucracy to his sentient sword. Particularly points he himself barely understands and hasn't yet started caring about.

_This is what a Captain does_, he says.

_A _week_, Toushiro. Without even basic exercises. _

_ I know, I'm sorry, but_ _I _have_ to do this now. _Toushiro resolutely turns his mind back to his quantity and price lists. As opposed to how guilty he now feels for losing patience with his zanpakuto, who after all has never lost patience with him, even when he might have entirely deserved it. No, he definitely does not think about that at all, nor does he glance longingly at his sheathed sword, propped against the wall behind his desk. "You are a Captain now," he recites aloud (in the hope that it will sound more convincing that way.) "You are not going to shirk your duties. No matter how dull or time-consuming they are."

_Master, if I am not mistaken that thing you are so intent on finishing is not due until _next_ week._

_ Well, if I get ahead now, I won't have to … worry later …_ The lamplight glints off the sword's star-shaped guard, practically winking invitingly. (Or so it seems to someone with too much imagination and too little rest.) _... Fine, I give, I give. Persistent bastard._

Only as Toushiro launches into a rigorous training session, reiatsu flowing strongly through him and stiff muscles stretching out, does he truly realize how much he really, _really_ _loathes_ that desk.

A long while later, once they've done enough sparring to make up for a week of inactivity, both ice-wielders pause and face each other across their battered-looking training ground. "You know it can't be easy like before, now," Toushiro says. Lower-ranked Shinigami are expected to train as much as they can. Captains, though …

"I know that," Hyourinmaru almost-whispers, in a voice that indicates he might _know_, but that doesn't mean he _understands_.

"I mean, I have to _do_ all this _stuff_, and – and if I don't, it _matters_ – and it's been a week and I've still got no idea _how_ this is supposed to work or if I'm doing it right. It scares me."

"And in turn, you frighten me. I know you, master. I am afraid you will push yourself too hard, and only end up making yourself suffer." _Just try to deny it_, the spirit's steady gaze challenges, armed with a list of past experiences to justify its suspicion.

Toushiro's answer (that he is only doing what he has to) dies on his lips, arrested by the genuine worry in those eyes. "I promise not to forget about you for so long anymore, at least," he offers instead with an apologetic smile. After all, the other Captains must find time to do their own training. Toushiro's own former Captain did. They figured it out, and so can he.

There is silence for a few seconds, then, "Do you like it?"

"Say what?"

"Being Captain – do you like it?"

"I … umm." Toushiro hates his new position on principle, because of the way it was forced on him. Sure, Yamamoto phrased the idea as a question, but by now Toushiro knows all about _questions_ vs. _questions that have only one acceptable answer_ – and into which category those posed by the Head Captain typically fall. He hates that no one ever asked him _this_ very question, or its still-more-important predecessor: _Do you _want_ it?_ He finds something very wrong in the fact that he's gotten so shocked over the idea of those questions.

After a week of practical experience, Toushiro knows he doesn't like the load of mind-boggling paperwork dumped on him, or the resultant deficit of sleep and meals. He certainly doesn't like the looks thrown his way (by men who could wipe the floor with him in a hand-to-hand fight) – incredulous, mocking, even resentful, making no secret of their feelings toward their upstart child Captain.

On the other hand, he likes no longer being held accountable to a superior officer for his every action. The work may be overwhelming, but at least he can do it in relative solitude and quiet. It's more freedom than he's had since joining the Gotei 13. He'll admit he's found himself liking the challenge, too; what self-respecting child genius wouldn't? And not all the looks he gets are negative; some are impressed and admiring, and he likes those very much.

"… I haven't decided yet," Toushiro finishes his non-answer.

Hyourinmaru shakes his head at him long-sufferingly. "Just … try to be happy, alright?"

Toushiro never speaks his response out loud, but judging from the soft look he catches in his zanpakuto's eyes, Hyourinmaru already knows the gist of it.

_I think I can do that._


	50. More Than One Way to Slay a Dragon

**A/N: Of course it's a 239 drabble, guys. I would go on a rant about the merits of original vs. dubbed ... but that would require admitting how many times I have already seen it ... Anyway, as you can see I have some very specific ideas that are not necessarily strictly canon-purist but hey, if they are going to throw a super-fanservicey filler arc at us, they will have to put up with me doing Epic Analyzing. And if you want to read strict canon, what are you doing with anything I write?**

* * *

Though Toushiro has barely been inside Seiretei since the rebellion began, and in no fit state to talk to anyone anyway, he's still heard snippets of the other officers' conversations. He knows what he has to do – it doesn't take a genius to figure out. The zanpakuto have abandoned the Shinigami, each denying their partnership and eager to engage their wielders in pitched combat. The only solution for a Shinigami, it would seem, is to win that fight. To have any hope of getting your zanpakuto back, you must defeat it in battle.

And now, facing off against his own zanpakuto, unable to keep desperation entirely at bay under grey eyes that watch him as they would a stranger, Toushiro's theory is confirmed.

He wonders what kind of Shinigami it makes him that his inner response consists of bone-deep shock.

According to the admittedly fairly disjointed texts in Seiretei's library, the point of achieving Captain-level ability, mastering bankai in particular, is to finally be at an equal level with one's zanpakuto spirit. There are diagrams, and rambling essays of philosophy mixed with science. The relationship reaches its final stage when the Shinigami defeats the spirit and is able to bend all of its power to his or her use. That's the ideal pattern taught in the Academy's theory classes and casually passed on to each wave of new Shinigami. A precise set of steps intended to be followed without question. The laws of nature itself.

But then, the laws of nature have always had sort of a blind spot when it comes to Toushiro Hitsugaya.

There was nothing to stop him and Hyourinmaru taking the steps all out of order, and here he is today with a working bankai, though it's only semi-reliable, and a zanpakuto still degrees of magnitude stronger than he is. When Hyourinmaru trains him, he has always held back. (It used to irritate Toushiro to no end; half their training time consisted of Toushiro needling him – unsuccessfully – into showing the upper limit of his strength. Now he curses himself for ever wishing for a full-on battle with the ice dragon.) Not that Hyourinmaru goes easy on him, but he never fights with full damaging intent, neither has Toushiro ever had to bend him into submission by force. (Neither of them has ever wanted to.)

In other words, they've never fought the way they are fighting now.

_"Isn't your zanpakuto another part of you? There must be some other way, instead of just fighting it." Time and again Toushiro has sworn never to talk to the grown-up squad members (it never ends very well for him), but every so often he'll stumble across some conversation and his big mouth just won't be able to help itself._

_ "Kid." The nearest man turns, sweeps his eyes doubtfully over the long katana strapped across Toushiro's back. "Those zanpakuto, they don't _want_ to be where they are. Only thing they're gonna give you is what you beat out of 'em."_

_ In the back of Toushiro's mind, Hyourinmaru stirs, listening. In response to Toushiro's hesitant thoughts, he sniffs, "Hmm. Well, what does _he_ know?"_

And Toushiro was proud, and always has been, to be the exception. Proud to have a zanpakuto who willingly shares his powers and to be able to throw them in the face of those who insist he prove his worth again and again.

(_Do not make me laugh … A mere child such as yourself could never wield me …_)

In this moment, Toushiro knows that if Hyourinmaru truly wants to kill him, he will. Toushiro can put up a fight for a while, but he won't stand a chance.

(But then, Toushiro has always known that; he just never cared, his faith in the bond holding them together unwavering. Even now in the back of his mind is the certainty that if he goes to his death, he'll go with a question on his lips – _how? I thought we …_)

Since raw strength won't be any use, he should be thinking of a strategy – instead, all that runs through his mind is, _What did I do? What did I _do_ to you?_

Why couldn't Hyourinmaru have simply turned on him? Why doesn't he even want to remember what made him rebel?

_Was he really too disgusted to stand even the memory of me? Did I do something to him bad enough that he couldn't even hate me for it … just wanted me _gone_?_

_ And how could I have hurt him like that, and not even known it?_

All of a sudden he's wondering if somehow he really has given up his claim on the ice dragon's soul. If it's true (and it isn't like he has never worried about this before) that he has no right to Hyourinmaru's power, or his loyalty. After all Toushiro spent years denying the voice in his dreams – pushing Hyourinmaru away, he realizes, just as fiercely as the spirit now pushes him.

The night after Soujiro Kusaka died, Toushiro re-lived their last minute together a thousand times in his dreams until he wept in a miserable ball on cold, hard ground, not realizing he'd unwittingly stumbled into his zanpakuto's world. He had completely blocked his connection to the sword spirit while conscious, after letting Hyourinmaru feel the full weight of his anger and grief. But Hyourinmaru came to his side that night anyway, simply having chosen, apparently, to disregard the rejection offered him.

(Toushiro wouldn't admit it, but he was glad he'd come.)

The thing is, Toushiro realized around that time, you can't just reject half your soul.

He recalls now, as he did back then, the long, desperate hours searching for the overpowering-yet-still-elusive voice in his mind, confronting it despite every logical cell in his brain screaming for retreat, absolutely sure that whatever happened when he threw himself into the jaws of that mass of wild energy would be _right_.

_I may have pushed you away, but I also called you, reached for you; I have stood before you and given myself up to your power and it could've swallowed me or torn me apart, but it didn't. _

Deep down, Hyourinmaru must know that there is _someone_ who called his name, who trusted him, someone he trained and protected. (Someone he learned to love, who learned to love him.)

If two beings are meant to be together, then they will _be _together, and surely there is no power in the three worlds capable of negating that.

So Toushiro repeats to himself as he struggles to stay standing, prepared to give up everything he has in him, fight to his death if he has to, if only Hyourinmaru will look at him and recognize him again, and asks, "What do you want?"

And when Hyourinmaru tells him he wants to find the place where he belongs, Toushiro knows he was right.

* * *

**Second Author's Note: Fifty chapters. I don't freakin' believe it. My absolutely sincere thanks to every single person who has read, extra thanks to those who subscribed and faved, and extra-extra thanks to those who have reviewed ... especially the crazy people who reviewed, like, every chapter. It all makes me feel great. :D Now that's out of the way, I intend to keep on writing this collection until I run out of ideas, which is not now _at all_, geez, you have no idea. But what's important is this ... are you guys still interested in reading?**


	51. Stand Still and Look Pretty

**AND IT CONTINUES. To celebrate this milestone I will be starting more organized authors' notes. **

**_(Unison Toushiro & Hyourinmaru: "Why did you encourage her, you fools?")_**

**Chapter 51  
Word Count: 1675  
****Warnings: Speculation ho! (By the way, when I talk about the former Captain Ten I mean Isshin Kurosaki. It's a fairly popular fan theory so I have adopted it. :))  
Fun Author Babbling: eesh. Ending not good aaat allll. Learning to write oneshots of respectable length while schools sucks all life out of my soul. Really.**

* * *

The day of his very first Captains' meeting may very well have been the most stressful of Toushiro Hitsugaya's short life. At the very least, it was stressful in a way entirely unlike anything he'd experienced before – or ever has since. He remembers standing with his body drawn up to tense attention, all his limbs trembling with pent-up nervous energy. Standing there until he half-believed that time had no more meaning and space ended with these four weathered wooden walls.

All told, it wasn't a very pleasant experience.

He convinced himself it wouldn't be so bad after that, now that he knew what to expect. (And he certainly wouldn't have to worry anymore about staying on edge, waiting for something to happen.)

For a while he managed to stay interested in the meetings, as a fascinating study of human nature, if nothing else.

Once, as he wound his way through the oddly empty corridors of Squad One, he idly wondered if those meetings that seem to have no real point are called by the Head Captain purely out of loneliness. It's rare to see Yamamoto outside the confines of his headquarters, neither has Toushiro ever seen him having anything that might qualify as a "conversation." What if, every so often, he wakes up with some need to be surrounded by the people who come closest to being his equals?

_Or, alternatively_, Toushiro continued to himself that same day, _he just loves to throw his authority in our faces._

(It's because of those flashes of sympathetic understanding that, when Toushiro hates the man, he does it so absolutely bitterly.)

These days, Toushiro counts with dread the hours until Captains' meeting time rolls around. The double-line formation he once found impressive now seems a hollow gesture, almost pathetically useless. Maybe it's because now he knows each white-clad figure, knows the true nature each keeps under their thin veils of dignity.

From his lower-than-average vantage point, Toushiro sees that Kyouraku on his left side typically either sleeps or meditates under that hat of his. (Although Toushiro does admire him in a twisted way, he's single-handedly responsible for shattering at least half Toushiro's illusions about Captaincy.)

On his other side is Mayuri Kurotsuchi, Toushiro's least favorite person in Seiretei now that Aizen and Ichimaru are gone. Kurotsuchi has an unhealthy fascination with him, abnormal child that he is; some of the things he says even make Toushiro wonder if somehow the painted man knows even the secrets of his time at the Academy. If anyone has both the ability and inclination to dig up information like that, it's Kurotsuchi.

And _that_ is why Toushiro is as little perturbed as he is to have Captain Zaraki glowering him across the aisle. Truth be told, he sleeps sounder knowing he has _that_ between himself and Squad Twelve.

The death-glares and periodic comments disparaging his age and/or fitness for Captaincy are apparently to be taken as complimentary – they mean Zaraki considers Toushiro strong enough to pick a fight with.

Now, worse than any of the people who are present is the memory of those who are not – the two gaping holes recently carved into the odd-numbered side of the room. If Toushiro had to stand on that side, you can bet he would be rushing to shift places and help erase those gaps. Surely protocol can be broken this once, in light of extreme circumstances; Toushiro can't be the only one who doesn't want (or need) any reminding of the crimes that have been carried out right before all of their eyes. But neither Komamura, Zaraki, nor Ukitake appears to be of like mind, and so the spaces remain, screaming out, _Just look at us now! See how we've been weakened!_

Even as he stews, Toushiro understands that none of them will ever shift into the empty spaces. Even he himself, however much he tries to convince himself otherwise, is not exempt from the restriction. The Captains don't stray from their positions, not for anything. They can be as impassioned or insulting as they want, they don't worry about reining their emotions in, but they must never step out of the tiny invisible squares designated for each to stand in. Toushiro can't remember any meeting ever conducted in less than perfect immobility, twelve figures that seem less like flesh and blood than still figurines, holding their poses until dismissed.

And when it comes down to it, the flat truth is that Toushiro hates having to stand still like that.

There are days when it feels like that's all he does, in meetings that go on _much_ longer that they have to, and afterwards back at Squad Ten to address or inspect his men. (Having to do that is even worse for him than the meetings. Their eyes _focus_ on him in a way other Captains' never do.) After the worst days, he crawls into his futon too exhausted to think, while at the same time full of a restless energy, feeling like he hasn't actually _done anything_ all day.

Sometimes, Toushiro thinks the only thing he's learned from being a Captain is how to stand still.

How to stand for an hour or more under constant scrutiny and never show his discomfort; how to sit for hours on end without periodically jumping up and pacing because otherwise he thinks he'll go out of his mind, just sitting there.

To be always conscious of his own body – spine never less than ramrod-straight, arms folded into sleeves or hanging loosely (with shoulders pulled back, always), hands never clasped together (it projects uncertainty), never twitching or fiddling with clothing. It's a litany that never silences anymore, even when there is no one present to judge the result.

He's learned to wait for orders, even when he's ready to scream, _Just let me do what I think will work, dammit!_

And he's somehow learned to accept that to put on a numbered haori is to give up your status as a living, flawed person and stand as a figurehead to lead the army of Seiretei. Shinigami all tend to idolize their Captains, whether consciously or not.

The squad that Toushiro inherited was numbed and beaten down by the disappearance of their last Captain, torn between believing that the man was taken down by some force capable of defeating a Captain without even a hint of disturbance and believing he abandoned Seiretei on purpose, for either would reveal the man they revered as no less mortal and fallible than anyone. Toushiro can guess this because he suffered through all those feelings too (they surprised him a little, considering that he'd come to Squad Ten embittered and determined to expect nothing from an organization capable of the kind of offhanded cruelty he'd been through).

And after all that, of all the Shinigami in Seiretei these disillusioned men were given to Toushiro Hitsugaya. Most of them could probably still remember him as a tiny, silent child with a sword the length of his body and more strength than he had any right to. And Toushiro still remembers exactly how they looked at him the first time they realized this wasn't some weird joke and he really _had_ been given the right to wear the Tenth's haori.

So Toushiro has tried hard to give Squad Ten a proper Captain again. He hides the stress and weariness that so frequently dog his footsteps and keeps his memories of old pain locked away tight, builds walls around his soul strong enough (he hopes) to control whatever new hurt may befall him. He trains far away from Seiretei so no one will know how desperately he is still trying to master all his powers, all the while telling himself he just wants privacy, he's not grown ashamed of how far he still is from a true Captain's strength. He viciously conceals anything that contradicts the belief that those who wear the white haori have gained some extra level of strength, knowledge and even perfection, because he knows the men he commands demand nothing less.

And though he still moves and breathes and lives day to day, he feels more like the subject of a painting, frozen forever in one position, forced to enact one scene over again indefinitely. In the back of his mind is a little part of him counting down – _Will it be today? Can I hold out until tomorrow?_ – until the day he makes himself disappear the way his old Captain did, the way he must have, because he woke up one morning and realized he was tired of standing still.

Then again, Toushiro inevitably reasons with himself, even the second-newest Captains after Toushiro have decades of experience on him. On the off chance they, too, have a tiny voice counting down in their heads, it's managed to keep going for all that extra time. (Toushiro is flat-out unwilling to believe that these thoughts are entirely unique to him.)

If this frustration is a phase he has to suffer through, then he will ride it out and emerge one day on the other side, even if the person who emerges is one who no longer objects to standing still and letting himself be displayed for the scrutiny of the world.

He can tell by now that the twelve – now nine – others who share his rank are none of them whole, happy people (Zaraki maybe, no one's yet dared to try and figure him out), but none of them have given up yet. All of them have sacrificed parts of themselves; all of them have learned the art of standing still just as Toushiro has because it is a necessary part of Captaincy – and Toushiro has sworn a vow that no one will ever be able to say he is not fit to be a Captain.

So each time the call comes to assemble in Squad One, Toushiro takes his place in the broken double row and stands straight and flawlessly still, for as long as it is required of him.


	52. Children Are Like Fireworks

**Chapter 52  
Word Count: 835  
Timeline: pre-series  
****Warnings: Vagueness, ahoy.  
****Fun Author Babbling: So you know, whenever I go on "unplanned hiatus" it's not because I don't WANT to write anything. It's just the Universe throwing around metaphorical walls for me to bang my head on. I'm very unproductive like that. BUT I will always come back (like a good zanpakuto, or a bouncy ball). Take that, Universe. **

* * *

The old woman has a proper name and a history. No one is close enough to her to ask for them, though, except her children and they just call her Granny and accept the care she gives without asking a lot of questions. Once she might have minded, but she's old now and a bit tired, and content to stay in her little house and let her long past fade away behind her.

And anyway, she has her children to watch over.

She senses things, this old woman does, that you might not expect her to. She might have made a decent Shinigami, if her life had taken a few different turns. Any powers she may have had are withered with disuse now; still, she can sense heaviness in the air that means a Hollow monster is passing nearby, enough in advance to call her children in and shut the doors tight.

And she senses, with a bone-deep certainty, that both her children _will_ be Shinigami, powerful ones, some day. Even little Toushiro, who still scorns all things spiritual.

In fact, Momo is almost there already; any day now she'll leave for the Seiretei. That saddens the old woman, but she's lived a long time and raised many children, and they all had to go out and make their own lives sooner or later.

She still worries, though.

Momo is one of those people who just somehow glows, no matter what, her inner light as bright and constant as the sun. And even after surviving in the harshness of Rukongai, it seems like Momo knows very little about how black the world can be; that sometimes it's better to let that inner light dim a little, because the ones who shine brightest get singled out.

So the old woman worries that unless Momo learns to guard that brightness inside of her, someday one wrong person will come along and snuff it out for good.

And she worries too about whether Toushiro will be alright once he's on his own, without his sister-figure.

If Momo is bright like sunlight, then Toushiro is like moonlight on snow – beautiful, but cold and a little bit unearthly.

_Jinx, demon_, the village children whisper about him, but of course the old woman knows better than that. He's only a quiet little boy, she defends him silently, and pretends she never has to repeat it to convince herself.

In the village they all describe him in ice metaphors, without fail. It's true that the temperatures that have everyone else shivering around their fires don't seem even to touch him, but ice is solid and stationary and he is neither of those things.

So she says to him, smiling, when he comes to her with a face full of innocent worry. She never continues that she would rather compare him to other things – to winter moonlight, to icy wind. He doesn't need to hear her strange ramblings.

She treats him like an ordinary child out of compassion, because she knows he is not strange or cold the way the villagers mean it. But the truth – Toushiro is not "only" anything – not normal, not ordinary. The fact that he has high reiatsu is not in itself so remarkable, but what he has is not, even now, the average reiatsu that makes an average Shinigami.

Like the moonlight he is drawn to the dark and unknown, in love with empty spaces (she sees how his eyes stray upward at night to rake across the sky, tracking signs invisible to all but him). Like the snow over the ground he keeps a shroud around his heart that even she, his family, is hard-pressed to see through. Like the wind his sharp mind refuses to be still, even when the only place to go is in futile circles around itself.

Put together, all of that makes a dangerous combination.

And this is the old woman's fear: when the world of the Shinigami finds Toushiro, as she knows it will, they will see him and forget (maybe intentionally, maybe not) that an extraordinary child is still a child, and in their eagerness to have him, they will break him.

Maybe, in his eagerness to belong with them, he'll break himself. She knows her child – she knows his stubborn, perfectionist nature.

She knows he wants something, something he'll never find here. It's been creeping up on him for years, the same way Momo once started staring and smiling at every lamp and cooking fire.

Toushiro stares at the night sky. He stares toward the horizon, wearing the expression that means he's working something out in his mind; spends evening after evening up on the roof, where he can be surrounded by nothing but the air. Sometimes he stares at nothing at all.

And sometimes when he stares absently into the distance, his eyes turn blank and introspective and the old woman suddenly imagines a huge, empty space behind them.

She worries that one day, he'll get lost there.


	53. Which Have Been Forgotten

**Chapter 53**

**Word Count: 600  
Timeline: pre-series  
Warnings: speculation, attempted Psychology FTW  
Author's Note: Phew. I'm baack. Yikes while I was gone Stuff Happened! The new FFN layout is weird-looking! This fic needs a cover image now, but I'm not sure what it should be. Ideas anyone? Also have you seen Chapter 497, oh em jee. **

* * *

The boy shivers. Cold doesn't seem to affect him, but hunger, sickness, and human cruelty do. So he crawls into small, abandoned places and his little body shivers reflexively as he curls himself into a tired ball.

The boy dreams of dragons.

He remembers a big, glossy book of them, and a fluffy bedspread high enough for him to sit on with his feet dangling way above the floor. He remembers someone else's long hair falling into his face, a female voice reading out the tiny printed words as her slender hands slowly turn the pages.

Sometimes he wonders if she, and the book and bed and all the rest of that other world, are just something else he dreamed up one night. But – "That's your life," they've told him, those few who will actually speak to him here. "Those're your memories, from before. They'll fade; best to let them go."

He must have looked different "before," he surmises, because she never struck at him or called him a demon child. She just laughed a lot and called him Shiro-chan and stroked his hair the wrong way.

And it was her who showed him the border where history meets imagination, taught him to love the stuff of myth. She had little worn books of tales, hardbacks printed to look like encyclopedias with meticulous illustrations – and of course, the big new volumes you don't really read, just look at the pictures.

He knew by heart every story in those books and some straight out of her mind, even a few out of his own. He thinks he dreamed of dragons back then, too, dragons of fire and water and ice –

("_What_ is an 'ice dragon,' Shiro-chan?"

"It's like a water dragon but it lives on the ice instead. I mean ice is just frozen water, right?"

And she laughed and said he should write his own book of dragons when he grows up.)

He thinks he might never grow up now, not since he –

_died. I died and now I'm dead. And I think the afterlife is trying to kill me all over again._

So in his personal corner of life-after-death, the boy puts his head down and lets his dreams run whatever course they choose.

And in his dreams he returns to that half-remembered world where there are warm arms around him and a book heavy on his lap – and farther, straight inside the pages, where the world is raw, elemental, uncomplicated. What would it be like, a world like that? He thinks of skies that go on forever, or flat plains with a clear horizon in every direction. On the edge of his mind's eye, familiar shadowy figures growl and beat their leathery wings. (Strong wings that could surely carry him until this whole rickety, miserable world is clear out of sight.…)

He thinks of standing on the clouds and screaming into the wind, and most of all of flying.

He thinks of these things, and he _wants_.

Truly, of course, he wants more than an escape into a fantasy world. He doesn't even want the world in his memories, because he's a smart boy who knows that one is every bit as remote as a world of dragons. Frankly he doesn't care what kind of world he lives in now, as long as there's a place in it where he doesn't have to hide and lose himself in dreams.

But he is young and tired, and for now this is the only desire he can form:

_I want to be a dragon too._


	54. Maybe Tonight

**Chapter 54  
Word Count: 798  
Timeline: pre-series, post-239 flashback  
Author's Note: Hellooo, new semester. My goal is to clear out the massive backlog of half-finished drabbles on my computer. Mostly Bleach, a few other random fandoms (heh, rhyme) as well. So far results have been mixed...**

* * *

Tonight, the ice on the floor hasn't spread much past Toushiro's own sleeping mat, but the temperature inside the cottage has dropped enough for him to see his breath condense.

Ever since the Shinigami woman's bizarre visit, Toushiro has refused to keep sleeping next to his grandmother. The next morning he dragged his bed as far across their cottage as he thought he could without raising suspicion. As it is she chooses to assume he's just growing up and looking for privacy.

And since then Toushiro has been forcing himself always to wake up before his grandmother does (not that he _has_ to force himself, since he can never sleep for more than a few hours anymore), terrified that one day she'll wake up and see what he's been doing to her.

_Please, please melt_, he begs silently; the ice vanishes, but rather than turning to liquid it disintegrates into tiny specks that glimmer faintly as they dissipate into the air.

He still hasn't gotten over the shock of finding out that all those kids who whispered about him were _right_. _I _am_ "just like ice," _he keeps thinking numbly. _I _am_ like a jinx, something abnormal that doesn't belong around ordinary people. _All these years he's walked around obliviously with this cloud of strangeness around him, scorning everyone who feared him when he should have been paying attention, reading the signs marking him unfit to take up residence with anyone – instead of having to find it out like _this_.

He should have taken that Shinigami's advice when she gave it to him. He should (and very well _could_) have packed up his few possessions and followed her out the door that very same night, but he'd been scared and shocked, paralyzed under his blanket by her words and her fingers over his heart.

He was still like that by the time she was tripping nonchalantly out the door again, and then instead of following he huddled back down into his bed and hoped all of this was just another bizarre dream.

At first he waited for that woman to return, thinking that if his case were really so urgent, she would come back for him, at least to offer some advice beyond "You hear a voice, you should become a Shinigami."

Now he's given up on that plan, but he's still waiting – for someone else to come and take charge of him, for this thing that's happening to him to pass like some new variety of illness. Maybe he can learn to control his mind somehow, keep himself from freezing the room in his sleep. Maybe if he ignores the dreams and the voice, the voice will give up and leave him alone.

Maybe, somehow, he can stay. Just a little longer.

His eyes stray to the softly breathing mound on the other futon. _What will I say to her?_ _What _can_ I say? What words could possibly ask forgiveness for what I've done? _he wonders, knowing no more answer will come tonight than did night after night before this.

Meanwhile there's another part of him, the part Granny calls wise-beyond-his-years, arguing with relentless practicality that he already knows how to find food and avoid dangerous people on the roads, and that it'll be easy to find the home of the Shinigami (directions: keep heading toward wherever the buildings are nicest-looking). _It doesn't matter what you say, because soon there won't be anyone to say it _to_. You have to leave, and it has to be now._

When this part of his brain takes over, Toushiro feels horribly selfish, a selfish little boy slowly killing the woman who has loved him like family, for what? Fear of the unknown? Fear of being alone? (Stupid. What's the sense in that, anyway, when he's alone here already?)

Still he hesitates, realizing the unfairness of making her wonder and worry over his disappearance. (Fearing that she _won't_ worry – that she'll find his disappearance a relief, the way everyone else in the village doubtless will.)

_That Shinigami, though … she wasn't afraid of me at all. She talked like she meets children like me all the time._

…_Not jinxed. Only misplaced,_ another thought cuts in. _Saying you don't belong here is not saying you don't belong _anywhere_. _He can't tell whether this is the elusive voice from his dreams, or just his mind conversing with itself.

The air temperature is inching back toward its normal level. Toushiro's arms begin to tremble with the effort of holding himself half-upright and tensed. He barely dares to move again, knowing any movement will mean a decision has been reached, and he is not ready, _not yet, please, not yet…_

The moon's light creeps across the floor, like a sheet of ice.


	55. Sword and Soldier Go Down Together

**Chapter 54  
Word Count: 706  
Timeline: pre-series through fake Karakura arc  
A/N: Angst, pointless vignettes. Y'know, the good stuff. How I've missed it...**

* * *

Toushiro remembers clearly the first time he broke his zanpakuto.

_Within his first year as a Shinigami – he's thrown himself into his duties with a fervor born from the desire to forget his days at the Academy, and _kami_ knows that desire is all-consuming. In his mind Hollow-fighting is still an exercise to be worked through, a sort of grim dance with steps you might recite to send yourself to sleep. _

_ That day, he performs all the steps flawlessly, but it doesn't matter. As soon as he gets close enough to make a strike, the Hollow just grabs Hyourinmaru in one of its bony-looking claws and _snaps_._

_ Toushiro skids across the grass, his sword hand loosening in shock. It's the worst thing he's ever felt – like the bottom of his soul falling out and taking all his insides with it. Part of him wants to scream, but his voice has been rendered just as useless as his fingers._

_ Having been thus struck down, he half-crouches with his fingers digging into dirt and roots and prepares to die with his eyes open._

_ Inside his head the voice of his sword whispers,_ "_I am still here."_

_ So Toushiro picks up the fallen blade, at least what's left of it. (The rest is lost in the grass somewhere, in all probability disintegrating into spirit-particles.) Its deadly, elegant curve now cuts off abruptly at a ragged edge, but the reiatsu trail linking it with its wielder flares up, unbroken. _

_ Did you think you were through fighting? Did you think a living blade would abandon you like simple inanimate metal? He _can't_ and he _won't_, not this time, not as long as you still say the word. Do you understand yet, innocent little Shinigami? _

_ (For the first time Toushiro really _does_ understand.)_

_ The dragon-spirit hisses, low and angry, _Let me kill the bastard.

_ "'Let you'? Hell, we have orders."_

_ His sword whole and heavy in his hands, he swings. _

Toushiro remembers even more clearly the first time he broke his bankai. (As it should be; it was much more recent.)

_For once, he's feeling good about himself; he defeated Luppi, saved Rangiku and the others. It feels as though his powers have been tested, for the first time in many years, and he's passed the test. And alright, it didn't go exactly as well as it could have, but those few moments, shamelessly showing off his bankai – they'll make a _damn good_ memory anyway._

_ But Shawlong's voice is so soft and solemn as he speaks of being too young, having limits, _please accept my final respects, little captain_… _

_ It hurts when his wings crumble. The price for sharing strength is that now he and Hyourinmaru share pain, too; bankai is like Hyourinmaru giving Toushiro a little bit of his own body, and now that piece is spread all across the sky and it feels like having a limb shattered. _

_(You're right, Arrancar, right about everything.)_

_The voice in his head whispers, "I will not let you fall."_

_ His body hits concrete. He feels every inch of pain and he does not fall. _

Within his first fifty years as a Shinigami Toushiro breaks himself, against the wall of pervasive, understated cruelty that is Sousuke Aizen.

He breaks spectacularly, in a shower of ice and blood.

In his mind something breaks too, like a sword cracking under too much stress. This break, too, is a spectacular one. Within his heart the moon explodes outward, and its fragments crack the sky.

_Did Hyourinmaru feel this way, the day the Hollow snapped him in two?_

_ Does he feel now the way Toushiro felt then – his heart falling out from under him, whole one second, in useless pieces the next?_

A broken zanpakuto needs only its master's presence to heal itself…but there is no such power waiting obligingly to put Toushiro back together. If there is one little piece of his soul left in the rubble somewhere that still has a voice to call, _I'm still here and I want to come out! _then all it can do is shore up all its fortifications and wait.

Two voices inside his head scream in harmony.

They remember breaking, but only for a moment.


End file.
